Ray's Big Mistake
by Dolphin-san
Summary: Love is like buses. You wait for ever for one to show up, and then three come along at the same time, it's just the case of catching the right one. Warning MPreg, character death Rated M for strong language and sexual references.
1. Chapter 1

Dolphin-san: Hey there y'all! If any of you are reading this and thinking that you've read it before, that's because I started it on mediaminer ages ago, but got kinda bored with it. But I thought of how to continue with it. This is basically going to be the same concept as the one on mediaminer, but I'm making it more Beyblade character centric, instead of the main characters being made up by me. So I'm hoping this turns out better than my first attempt.

Oh just a few thing to clear up before I begin though. The characters may seem a little OOC and Takao and Hiro aren't related, instead Takao has an older sister. Hmm I think that's all. Oh no wait there is going to be MPreg in this fic, just to warn you, and everyone in this AU is totally alright with it. If you personally don't like it then don't read it. I don't want to have to read any reviews saying stuff like 'That's sick' or anything, okay?

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

It was the first day of April. Seeing the reception desk temporarily unmanned, Ray snatched up the ringing phone.

'Takao Kinomiya salon, how can I help you?'

'Hello.' It was a male voice. 'I need a complete restyle.'

'We do have a long waiting list,' Ray warned, uncapping a biro with his teeth. 'Could I have your name, please?'

'Duncan Goodhew.'

Over the phone, he heard gales of background laughter.

'Oh ha ha, well done, very good.' Ray recited dutifully. 'If only Eddie Izzard was as witty as you.' He rolled his eyes at Bev, the salon's glamorous receptionist, now racing back from the loo.

'Who was that?' said Bev as Ray hung up.

'A big wally. April Fools' Day, don't you just love it?'

Grabbing his coat and rummaging in the pockets, Ray dragged out one green woollen glove and one pink leather one. Well, imitation leather.

Bev's manicured blonde eyebrows went up.

'Lunch break already? It's only half past eleven.'

'Dogsbody duty.' Making sure he wasn't being watched, Ray pulled a face. 'Cigarettes for Alice Tavistock. And a box of herbal tea bags. _And_ half a dozen first-class stamps. That woman, honestly, I don't know why she doesn't write out her whole week's shopping list, pack me off to Sainsbury's and be done with it.'

'And when you've finished that,' Bev suggested helpfully, 'you could valet her car.'

'Pop her washing round to the laundrette.'

'Mow her lawn.'

'Fill out her tax return.'

'Clean her loos,' Bev blinked innocently, 'with her own toothbrush.'

'Ray, are you still here?' Takao Kinomiya, emerging from the VIP room, shot him a look of disbelief.

'Sorry, Takao, no, Takao, I'm gone.' Ray jammed his gloves on, getting three fingers stuck in one thumb-hole. He grinned at Bev, and made a dash for the door. 'Back in ten minutes, okay?'

Takao called after him, 'Make that five.'

Since Takao Kinomiya had landed himself a regular slot on the hugely popular TV show '_It's Morning__!' _his client list had blossomed beyond belief.

As the show's producer had pointed out, he was a seriously attractive hairdresser. How could he fail?

The female producer had been right.

With his midnight-blue shoulder length hair, thickly fringed storm-blue eyes and come-to-bed smile, Takao had a way with people and with scissors that had done his business no harm at all. No longer buried in the back streets of Bermondsey (special rates for pensioners on Monday and Wednesdays), he had been catapulted upmarket to the altogether glossier pavements Knightsbridge's Brompton Road (special rates, _never_). Celebrities queued up, for months sometimes, for the privilege of shelling out two hundred and fifty pounds and being able to boast to friends, journalists . . . well anyone who'd listen, basically, that theirs was a Takao Kinomiya cut.

Nowadays you could spot his clients a mile off, thought Ray, teetering on the edge of the kerb as a chauffeur-driven limo pulled up inches from his toes. The snow had all but melted now, leaving only squelchy dregs, but the woman emerging from the back of the limousine was kitted out in enough fur to see her through a hike across the Antarctic. Gingerly, in her fur-lined boots, she picked her way through the slush.

Well, it was an awfully _wide_ pavement. All six feet from the car to the apricot-tinted-glass and brass doors of the salon.

And if you were going to pay a chauffeur to run you around town, it made sense to economise in other areas, Ray acknowledged, recognising the famous romantic novelist as she removed her dark glasses. That must be why the stingy, face-lifted old hag had only tipped him thirty pence last week.

The stamps and cigarettes weren't a problem, but the Grapefruit Zingg herbal tea bags with extra ginseng took longer to track down. By the time he'd bought everything, Ray was already fifteen minutes late.

He was there, sitting in his usual spot outside the shoe shop. Experiencing a horrid qualm of guilt, Ray wondered if he could cross the road so he wouldn't catch sight of him, or simply rush past pretending he hadn't seen him.

Then again, perhaps he should just explain that he was in a tearing hurry and didn't have his wallet in him right now, but if he hung around for another hour or so, he'd see him later.

Hung around for another hour or so, Ray thought with a shudder. Crikey, patronising or what?

Poor chap, as if he had anywhere else to go.

Oh, but he looked so cold, so utterly miserable and chilled to the bone.

Too late to try and avoid him now anyway, he realised. He'd spotted him.

'Hi,' said Ray, feeling rotten already. His blanket was damp, soaked through with slush. 'Look, this isn't my lunch break, I'm picking up a few things for a client, but I'll definitely be back before two.' Inwardly, he cringed. Oh help, why did a perfectly good reason have to come out sounding like a feeble excuse? He didn't want one of his sandwiches in two hours time, he needed something to warm him up _now_.

'Okay.' The man, who was probably in his early thirties, nodded and managed a faint smile. 'Thanks.'

He never begged, never asked for anything. Just sat there, with his greasy two-toned hair falling over his face and his dark eyelashes half shielding his eyes, as he watched the rest of the world march on by.

Ray had never given him any money in case he was a drug addict. The thought of his spare cash being injected into the nearest collapsed vein made him shudder. At least he couldn't fit a prawn sandwich into a syringe.

But today the circumstances were different. And there was a Burger King just across the road, selling hot drinks. What's more, Ray remembered, Alice Tavistock had given him a ten-pound note to go shopping with . . .

'Here.' Hurriedly he fumbled in his coat pocket for change and thrust seventy pence into his hand. 'Buy yourself a cup of tea. Thaw out a bit.'

'That's very kind.'

Heroin cost more than seventy pence, didn't it?

Worried, needing to check, Ray said, 'You don't do drugs?'

Another fleeting smile, accompanied this time by a shake of the head.

'No, I don't do drugs.'

Except . . . well, he would say that, wouldn't he?

Ray gave up; he had to get back. Ugh, this weather, his feet were going numb.

'Okay, see you later.' He flexed his icy toes. 'Ham and tomato or prawn with mayonnaise?'

The man on the pavement shrugged.

'I don't mind. You choose.'

* * *

'Sorry I'm late.' Panting, Ray burst into the VIP room. 'Harrods was packed and the woman in front of me at the counter had a funny turn. Never mind, back now. Here we are, Mrs Tavistock.'

Takao was putting the finishing touches to Alice Tavistock's French pleat. Not believing the funny turn story for a second, he watched Ray empty his pockets of stamps, cigarettes and change.

'Take the towels out of the tumble dryer,' he said, 'and give Corinne a hand with Lady Trent's highlights.'

Ray wondered if Alice Tavistock might say thank you, but getting a cigarette out of its packet and into her heavily lipsticked mouth was evidently far more important. He watched the expensive silver lighter go click and the tendons of Alice Tavistock's skinny neck stick out like trapeze wires as she sucked in the first lungful of---

'Ray. Towels.'

* * *

Five minutes later, Ray was dutifully passing rectangles of silver foil to Corrine when Takao and Alice Tavistock emerged from the VIP room into the main area of the salon.

As Takao beckoned him over, Ray clearly saw coins glinting in Alice Tavistock's hand.

Hooray, tip time!

Then again, maybe not. The expression on her freshly powdered face wasn't exactly brimming over with gratitude.

'I gave you a ten-pound note,' Alice Tavistock announced without preamble, thrusting her outstretched palm under Ray's nose. 'And this is how much you gave me back. Do you think I'm incapable of adding up?' she demanded stroppily. 'You've short changed me.'

'God, sorry, I forgot!' Ray clapped his hand to his forehead. 'I meant to give it back, make up the difference, then Takao told me to sort out the towels and I---'

'And you thought you could get away with it.' Alice Tavistock always spoke with a plumb in her mouth. Now, she sounded as if she were spitting out the stones. 'Swindler. Thief.'

'I am not a thief!'

Takao closed his eyes.

'Ray, what did you do with Mrs Tavistock's money?'

'Gave it to someone.'

Frowning, Takao said, 'What? Stop mumbling, talk properly.'

Ray lifted his head. Oh Lord, he wasn't looking happy.

'I gave it to a homeless person so he could buy himself a cup of tea.'

'My money!' squawked Alice Tavistock. 'You're telling me you gave my sixty pence to a filthy scrounging beggar? For crying out loud, boy, are you mad?'

So much for boasting about her ability to add up, Ray thought mutinously.

'He isn't a beggar.' He couldn't let it pass, somebody had to defend him. 'He never begs! And it wasn't sixty pence either,' he concluded, 'it was seventy.'

* * *

Ray loved hairdressing, despite the abysmal rates of pay for trainees. He was happy working in Takao's salon, he adored cutting hair – on the rare occasions when he got a chance – and he really enjoyed the contact with clients.

Well, most clients.

The big drawback was having to carry on being nice to them when they were horrible to you.

'I'm not a thief,' he told Takao when he had reimbursed his outraged client from the till, apologised profusely and shown her out of the salon.

'I know that. But you aren't exactly Mensa material either,' Takao pointed out, 'are you?'

'She's a hag! That woman spends her life boasting about all the charity committees she's on. How can she be so _mean_?'

'Hardly the point. Alice Tavistock is our client.'

'She's a stingy old battleaxe,' Ray muttered.

'Stop it. Now listen to me.' Takao consulted his watch. 'Bev has to see her dentist at one o'clock. I'll need you to take over at the desk for a couple of hours.'

'You mean . . . work through my lunch break?'

Horrors! Ray's honey eye's widened in dismay. He was already ravenous.

What's more, he remembered guiltily, I'm not the only one.

But it was no good. Takao was giving him one of his serious, I'm-the-boss looks.

'I think that's fair, under the circumstances. Don't you?'

* * *

Max watched the checkout girl pick up each item in turn, pass it over the scanner and send it on its way along the conveyor belt. Like the prizes on _'The Generation Game'_, minus the cuddly toy.

Packet of chicken breasts.

One lemon.

Pint of milk, semi-skimmed.

Shrink-wrapped bouquet of broccoli.

Small carton of hugely expensive new potatoes.

Pregnancy testing kit.

_'The Generation Game'_. Very apt.

Max held his breath, wondering if the girl would glance at him in a secret, knowing way, but when she looked up all she said in a bored voice was, 'That'll be fifteen pounds seventy. Got your Clubcard?'

It clearly took more, these days, than a few chicken breasts and a pregnancy testing kit to arouse a checkout operator's interest.

* * *

Back at Special Occasions – perfect gifts for _every_ occasion – Max hung the Tesco carrier on his coat hook and locked himself in the tiny downstairs loo.

His fingers shook as he tore the cellophane wrapping off the testing kit. The words on the accompanying leaflet danced infront of his eyes.

Oh help, this is it, this is serious.

Right, can't afford any mistakes, thought Max, feeling sick already. Treat it like an exam, read the instructions slowly and carefully. Concentrate, concentrate, and for goodness' sake stop this stupid _shaking_.

The sudden hammering on the door almost catapulted him off the loo seat.

'Max? Are you in there?'

Well, who else was it likely to be? thought Max resignedly.

'Um . . . yes.'

At least he hadn't been in the middle of some tricky form of gymnastics involving pipettes and mid-stream flow.

'Okay.' Bruce, his manager, sounded impatient. 'Keep an eye on the shop, would you? I've need to make a call.'

'Two minutes,' Max called out in desperation.

'What?'

He couldn't not find out now, the suspense was killing him almost as much as the need to pee.

'Just give me two minutes, okay?'

Outside the door, Bruce shook his head in bewilderment.

'Okay.'

Out in the shop, the bell above the door went ding, heralding the arrival of a customer. Relieved, Max heard the sound of his boss's retreating footsteps. He couldn't possibly pee on to a stick with Bruce lurking just inches away on the other side of the toilet door.

The crucial stream of urine was duly passed. Max closed his eyes and began to count.

When he opened his eyes again, the end of the stick was blue.

'Oh, good grief,' Max whispered, the words almost drowned out by the thundering of his heart. Pulling open the neck of his sweater and peering down at his stomach, he said in an unsteady voice, 'Hello.'

* * *

Out in the shop, Bruce was wrapping up his customer's purchase, a wildly expensive yellow and white Italian vase. When Max eventually reappeared, looking pale, he said, 'Max, before I forget. Bit of a do on at the golf club this evening. Verity and I were hoping to get along for an hour or two, but the blasted babysitter's let us down. Any chance of you riding to the rescue?'

Having ridden to the rescue before, Max wasn't fooled for an instant by his jovial tone. Like cat years, Bruce's idea of an hour or two usually meant seven or eight.

'Bruce, I'm sorry. I can't.'

Taken aback wasn't the word for it.

'But you said you didn't have anything on tonight.' His tone was accusing.

Be brave, stand your ground, don't let him bully you into it.

'That was this morning.' Max spoke as firmly as he dared. 'I do know.'

* * *

Dolphin-san: There we go. First chappy complete. So what do you think? Is it good? Does t make sense? Please review and tell me what you think.

Ja Ne.


	2. Chapter 2

Dolphin-san: Hey again people! Here's the next part in the life of everyone's favourite neko-jin. Hope you enjoy it.

Oh and thanks very much to darksaphire for being my first reviewer on this fic. It really made my day.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Florence Curtis had led an action-packed life; she had always lived for the day and crammed as much as was humanly possible into each and every one of them. Married at twenty, a mother at twenty-five, divorced by twenty-seven, married again, widowed, married for the third time at thirty-three . . . good Lord, it made her dizzy nowadays just to remember those hectic years when, juggling homes, staff and the needs of her much-loved but incredibly demanding son, she had followed her various husbands all over the world.

Then her beloved Danny, number three, had died of a heart attack on the steps of the casino at Monte Carlo and Florence had decided to call it a day on the husband front. Twice widowed was enough; the pain was almost too much to bear. From now on she would stick to lovers. Apart from anything else, she glibly informed her friends – because sympathy was anathema to Florence – she was tired of endlessly changing her surname on chequebooks.

The next twenty years had been spent in the reckless pursuit of fun, with Florence adoring every last minute. Her motto had always been 'You're a long time dead', and until the first signs of stiffness had begun to seep into her joints, it had never occurred to her that perhaps it should have been 'You're a long time crippled with arthritis'.

It was hard, adapting to life in a wheelchair when your brain sometimes fooled you into thinking you were still as active as you'd always been. Every now and then, Florence dreamt that she had been dancing all night at the Cafe Royal. When she woke up, exhilarated and in the mood to carry on, she would think, That's what I'll do today, go somewhere a bit swish and _dance _. . .

Until she tried to turn over in bed, only to groan aloud with the pain. These days she was lucky if she could make it as far as the kitchen before collapsing in a heap.

Last year Florence's well-meaning GP had suggested wheelchair ballroom dancing. Every Thursday night, apparently, busloads of disabled pensioners descended on nearby St Augustine's church hall and had a high old time of it, spinning and twirling their partners around the floor.

'What, in their wheelchairs?' Florence had roared with laughter. 'Sorry, darling, not my scene. Sounds like two teenagers with clonking great braces on their teeth trying to have a snog.'

If she sometimes felt a bit down in the dumps, Florence made sure she kept it to herself. What good would it do, after all, to drone on about how depressed you were and how narrow your life had become? That was a surefire way to end up a Nellie No-friends.

Instead, she concentrated on presenting her cheerful, fun-loving self to the world. She also made sure she counted her blessings regularly. She had her home, and no money worries. She had Ray. And her legs might be useless, but at least she still had the use of her hands, which meant she could hold a champagne glass, play a mean game of poker and put on her own make-up. Not always brilliantly, as Florence was the first to admit. But hell, there were worst things in life than a bit of wonkily applied eyeliner.

As the clock on the mantelpiece chimed six-thirty, Florence wheeled herself over to the sitting-room window. She liked to watch out for her lodger. As soon as she saw Ray coming up the street – usually searching in his pockets for his front door key – she would fetch a bottle of lager from the fridge and pour herself a decent measure of dry sherry.

That was another great thing about wheelchairs. If the first drink of the day went straight to your knees – well, so what?

Florence was still tussling with the ice cube tray when the front door slammed shut and Ray yelled, 'I'm home.'

'You're frozen. Go and sit by the fire,' Florence protested when he came through to the kitchen to help. 'I can manage.'

Ray bashed the tray against the top of the fridge, scattering ice cubes in all directions.

'Mt hands are numb already.' He clattered ice cubes into Florence's sherry glass. 'There, done. Now we can both sit by the fire.' He pulled a face. 'And I can tell you all about my wonderful day.'

Sleety rain dripped down Ray's neck as he tipped his head back to drink the lager straight from the bottle. His long black hair, tied back, reaching to below his knees and currently streaked with dark blue and green low lights, gleamed like a magpie's wing.

'. . . so I missed my lunch break and by the time I left the salon, he'd gone,' he concluded, unaware of the rim of froth on his upper lip. 'Poor guy, I feel terrible letting him down like that.'

'You know your trouble,' Florence said comfortably, 'you're a soft touch.'

'I just worry about him. What kid of life does he have? I mean, imagine not having anywhere to _live_.'

Florence snorted into her sherry. 'Ha, feeling sorry for him's one thing. Just so long as you don't bring him back here and expect me to feel sorry for him too.'

She wouldn't put it past Ray to give it a go, to try and persuade her to allow some smelly old tramp to move in with them.

'You're heartless,' said Ray.

'I'm not a pushover, that's all. Anyway,' Florence grew serious, there's something I have to tell you. It's not good news, I'm afraid.'

'What?' Ray's light eyes widened in alarm. 'Are you ill?'

'I'm not, but my bank account's feeling pretty sick. You heard about the stock market crash last week?'

Ray hadn't, but he nodded anyway. Matters of high finance tended to pass him by.

'Well, my accountant phoned me this afternoon. My shares have gone down the toilet. Basically, I'm skint.' Florence paused and looked embarrassed, 'The thing is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to put your rent up.'

Ray swallowed. He began to feel queasy.

'Oh. Okay. Um . . . by how much?'

'Well, double it?'

Good grief.

The look on Ray's face was a picture. Florence roared with laughter and clapped her hands.

'Ha, April Fool!'

Ray's mouth dropped open.

'You mean . . . my rent's not going up?'

'Of course it isn't!'

'You aren't broke?'

'There hasn't been a stock market crash. You should try reading the paper occasionally,' Florence cackled, 'then you'd know.'

Ray breathed again.

'It's after midday,' he protested. 'April Fools don't count after midday.'

'I didn't get a chance earlier. Anyway,' Florence's grin was unrepentant, 'still worked, didn't it?'

'That's cheating,' grumbled Ray.

With an air of complacency, Florence said. 'Ah well, I'm allowed to cheat, I'm a batty old woman in a wheelchair. That means I can do what I want.'

* * *

Hiro wasn't due back from work until eight. Feeling that an extra-special dinner was called for, Max marinated the chicken breasts and mushrooms in garlic and olive oil, tossed the tiny new potatoes in butter and made sure there was enough blackcurrant sorbet in the freezer before running his bath.

He pulled his hair back with the diamante clips Hiro had bought him last Christmas and put on the red satin shirt and black leather pants he had given him for his birthday. He outlined his eyes with kohl to make his blue eyes stand out sharper, determinedly ignoring how it made his eyes itch.

Every little helped.

He hoped.

And let's face it, thought Max as he began – albeit shakily – to head back down the stairs, tonight I'm going to need all the help I can get.

Twenty-five past eight.

Still no sign of Hiro.

God, the one time I desperately need a drink, and I can't have one.

By eight thirty Max's nerves were in bits. When he heard the click of Hiro's key in the front door, he catapulted out of his chair as if he'd been zapped with a cattle prod.

Appearing in the living room, loosening his tie, Hiro let out a low whistle.

'I say, what's all this in aid of? It's not our anniversary, is it?'

Max began to tremble. He'd overdone it. Now he was going to want to know right away why he'd made such an effort.

'I just felt like dressing up.'

He managed a bright smile. Telling Hiro was going to be so much easier once he had a good meal and the best part of a bottle of wine inside him.

'Leather pants.' He tilted his head, observing the tight leather that fit Max like a second skin. 'This is the kind of dressing up I like.'

Hmm, maybe dinner followed by sex, _then_ tell him. That might be better.

That is, if Hiro didn't fall asleep and start snoring like a rhino within six seconds of rolling off him.

It had been known to happen in the past.

'Is that garlic?' Hiro sniffed the cooking smells wafting through from the kitchen. 'I'd better give that a miss. Big meeting first thing tomorrow – don't want to knock the clients senseless.'

'Oh.' Max's face fell. He'd put garlic in everything. That meant dinner now consisted of blackcurrant sorbet.

'Is everything okay?' Sensing his anxiety, Hiro moved towards him. 'Sweetheart, you're shaking. Is something up?'

'I'd better turn the oven off.' Max heard his own voice echoing in his ears. It was like listening to someone else talking. He hadn't wanted to launch right in and say it, he needed time to gear himself up, run a few more practice lines through his head.

Then again, was it really going to make it any easier?

'Max?' Hiro's hands were on his shoulders, gently massaging them. 'What is it?'

'Oh Hiro, we're going to have a baby.'

There, he'd done it.

Blurted it out.

Like Bambi's legs collapsing on the ice – whoomph – Hiro's hands slid off his shoulders.

'What?'

Another deep breath.

'A baby. We – we're going to have a baby.'

He took a step back.

'You mean you're pregnant?'

With an effort, Max stopped his smile from wobbling, though his knees carried on regardless.

'Well, we didn't win one in a competition.'

'Is this a joke?'

'No! I wouldn't joke about something like this!'

Hiro gave him an odd look. A not very encouraging one.

'How long have you known?'

Max's heart was flapping around in his chest. It felt as if it was trying to get out.

'Seven hours.'

'Max. This can't happen. You know it can't.'

'But it _has_ happened,' Max protested, dry-mouthed.

'We agreed. No babies. We don't need them. I don't want them. I don't even like them.'

'I know, I know,' he pleaded, 'but it's happened. It was an accident but now it's happened-'

'Sure about that?' said Hiro coldly. 'Are you sure it was an accident?'

'I swear to you!' Oh God, this was awful. 'I'd never do anything like that. It was just as much of a shock to me-'

'Good. So all we have to do is sort it out.'

Max stared at him, unable to speak.

'Don't look at me like that.' Steadily, Hiro held his gaze. 'What did you seriously expect me to say? Max, you are _not_ going to have a baby. We'll get it taken care of. It's no big deal, sweetheart, it won't even hurt.'

Fear was replaced by fury. Max felt his fingernails digging into his palms.

'We aren't talking about a . . . a _wisdom_ tooth . . .'

'It's smaller than a wisdom tooth.'

'It's a human being!' Why couldn't Hiro understand how he felt? He fought back the urge to scream at the top of his voice. If Hiro truly loved him, why couldn't he understand how he felt? How could he just reject the idea out of hand?

'I'm not being brutal,' Hiro said, 'just realistic.'

'But it doesn't have to be the end of the world!'

'No, just the end of our marriage.'

Max reeled back as if Hiro'd hit him. He felt physically winded.

'So that's why you made all this effort,' Hiro drawled, gesturing at Max's clothes. 'Oh, I get it now. Slap on some leather and eyeliner and that'll do the trick. Just the idea of no underwear under those pants and you'll have me at your mercy, gibbering, "Darling, how wonderful, you've made me the happiest man in the world, of _course_ I want a baby."'

Max looked away.

Well, yes.

Basically it was what he had hoped would happen.

'Sorry, Max. I can't do it. I told you before we got married how I felt about children, and I'm not going to start changing my mind now. See?' Hiro waved an arm in the direction of the window. 'No flying pigs.'

No, thought Max, just one two-legged one right here in the living room.

'I can't get rid of it,' he whispered, 'I just couldn't.' Hating himself for being so feeble, knowing it was a waste of time, he begged.

'You might change your mind.'

'No.' Hiro picked up his car keys, his grey eyes cold. 'No, no, no. By the way,' he added dismissively as he made for the front door, 'don't worry about saving my dinner for me. I'll eat out.'

* * *

Dolphin-san: Lord, isn't Hiro such a bastard. If you haven't guessed, there is going to be a lot of Hiro bashing in this fic, because I don't like him. Well, R&R people, if you liked it, and if you didn't, review anyway, cause i don't mind constructive criticism. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dolphin-san: Was up y'all? Here's the next part of the story for those who read it.

Thanks to **Seto's Nice ****Girl** and **Shain**for reviewing the last chapter. I loved hearing from both of you and they inspired me to post this update (I've had it complete for a couple of days now) so thank you both tremendously.

Oh and to answer Shain's question, if anyone else was wondering, the reason for Max being able to carry children is that it's a genetic condition resulting from experiments back in the 40's. Male's who can get pregnant are called carriers. The carrier gene is the recessive gene so both the mother and father have to have the recessive gene for the male child to get it. So it's not uncommon for a male to be pregnant in this AU but people would still stare.

* * *

**Chapter**** 3**

'Look, I'm really sorry about yesterday,' said Ray. 'I got into all kinds of bother with a customer and ended up having to work through my lunch break, otherwise I'd have-'

'It's okay, doesn't matter. You don't need to apologise.'

Ray blinked icy rain out of his eyes and rummaged though his bag. If his fingers were frozen he couldn't imagine how the man on the pavements must feel.

'Ham and tomato today, is that alright? And I thought these might come in handy.' Digging deeper, he unearthed a pair of tan leather gloves and a black knitted scarf.

'These are great. Thanks very much.' The man smiled up at him. 'Did you knit this?'

Ray rolled his eyes.

'God, no, picked it up in Oxfam. I couldn't knit to save my life.'

'Well, thanks anyway. Very warm.'

He had a nice voice. Ray watched him wrap the scarf around his neck and slide his fingers into the gloves. He ruffled his own hair, unexpectedly embarrassed. All of a sudden he felt like a bossy uncle forcing his nephew to try on his least favourite Christmas present.

And be suitably grateful.

Damn, he wished he hadn't given him the stupid things now.

'Better get back.' Hurriedly, he consulted his watch. 'Don't want to get into any more trouble.'

'These are expensive gloves.' The man was peeling one back at the wrist, reading the label. 'Harvey Nichols, it says here.'

'I didn't buy them,' said Ray, anxious to get away. When his light eyebrows went up, he added, 'Don't worry, I didn't steal them either.'

* * *

The phone rang in the salon an hour later. Ray, who was busy sweeping hair, dimly heard Bev, at the desk, exclaim happily, 'Oh hi, yes we _do_ have them, we wondered who they belonged to!'

Another two minutes elapsed before Bev tapped Ray on the shoulder.

'Ray, that was a client on the phone. Any idea what's happened to those gloves that were left in the cloakroom? He's dropping by this afternoon to pick them up and I can't find them anywhere. D'you know if Takao put them in his office?'

'Oh hell.' Ray straightened up and let out a groan. For three and a half weeks the gloves had lain unclaimed on a shelf in the cloakroom, and now . . . well, life was just too unfair.

'What does that mean?' Bev was instantly suspicious. 'Oh hell what?'

'They went to a deserving cause.'

'Don't tell me, you gave them to that tame tramp of yours.' Bev guessed at once from the look on Ray's face. 'Oh, you are hopeless. What on earth am I going to say to the client when he turns up?'

'Um . . .'

'And Takao is going to kill you.'

'He won't.' Ray spoke with more conviction than he felt. 'I asked if I could have them. He said it was okay.'

Well, he had. Kind of. The only niggling drawback was, Takao had been pretty busy at the time. And although _technically_ he had said yes, Ray couldn't help feeling that maybe he'd meant yes, he could have the gloves if nobody turned up to claim them within, say, the next six months.

Rather then the next six seconds.

He bit his lip.

'Well, if Takao said it was okay,' said Bev, 'that's fine. He can make the grovelling apologies when the client gets here. Maybe he'd even like to pop along to Harvey Nichols and buy him another pair.'

Ray winced.

'After all,' Bev continued remorselessly, 'those gloves cost about two hundred quid.'

They were great friends. She was extremely fond of Ray, who was dippy and good-hearted. The trouble was, Ray was always getting himself into . . . well, trouble. He had a habit of making mistakes.

'Well?' said Bev.

'Okay, okay,' Ray groaned, thrusting the broom into her hands. 'Just cover for me. If Takao asks where I am, tell him I'm in the loo. I'll be back in _two minutes_.'

As he raced to the door, Bev called after him, 'Honestly, the muddles you get yourself into.' She broke into a large grin. 'I'm glad I'm not you.'

Me too, thought Ray as he pelted hell for leather up the Brompton Road, I wish I wasn't me either.

Oh God, this was going to be awkward.

He was still there, thank goodness. When he spotted Ray running towards him, he nodded and raised one hand briefly in greeting, waggling his fingers to show him he was still wearing the nice warm gloves.

'This,' Ray said, 'is _so_ embarrassing.'

'What's wrong?'

Ray's teeth began to chatter with cold and shame. It was still raining and he'd dashed out without his coat.

'The gloves. They . . . er, belong to someone. And . . . um, well, now they want them back.'

Dear God, what must he think of me? Playing Mr Bountiful one minute and all but stripping him naked the next.

The man didn't even blink.

'Okay.'

'Sorry,' said Ray with an air of desperation. 'I fell terrible.'

'And I keep telling you, no need to apologise.' He peeled off the gloves and held them out to Ray, smiling faintly as he did so. 'They weren't really me, anyway.'

'Thanks.'

Feeling a complete heel, Ray took them from him.

'Do you need the scarf back as well?'

'No! _Stop_,' Ray almost yelled in alarm as he began to unwind it from around his neck, 'you can definitely keep the scarf!'

'That's okay then.' Relieved, the man on the pavement patted it back into place. 'Actually, I prefer the scarf.' His dark eyes registered self-deprecating amusement. 'It's much more my style.'

* * *

As Ray burst through the tinted glass door of the salon, he heard a male voice saying, '. . . at least now I don't have to buy a new pair.' In the nick of time, Ray shoved the gloves under his slightly baggy T-shirt.

Bev, who had been stalling the man and simultaneously doing her best to impress him with (a) her chest and (b) her dazzling repartee, visibly exhaled when she saw Ray and raised an eyebrow at the way he was clutching his stomach.

'Mission accomplished,' Ray murmured when they met up in the cloakroom. Producing the gloves with a flourish, he waved them in front of Bev, like cow's udders.

'This is known as a skin-of-your-teeth experience. He's in a rush.' Bev grabbed the gloves, wafting them suspiciously under her nose. 'God, if he knew where they'd _been_.'

Ray looked offended. 'I had a shower this morning.'

'Not you, you idiot. Homeless Herbert. It's probably weeks since he last saw a bar of soap.'

Ray followed her out of the cloakroom.

'Great, thanks.' The man took the gloves, then frowned. 'They're warm.'

He looked at Bev. Bev, stumped, gazed back at him.

'It's cold outside,' Ray chimed in helpfully. 'As soon as you rang, Bev put them on the radiator to warm up.'

Relieved, Bev nodded vigorously.

'That was nice of you.' He grinned at her.

'Bev's a thoughtful girl,' said Ray. 'Single too,' he went on, barely wincing as beneath the desk a stiletto heel jabbed into his foot. 'She's make someone a wonderful wife.'

When the client had left, Takao beckoned Ray over to him.

'So the gloves have been claimed?'

'Mmm. Lucky he came before I ran off with them.'

'Very lucky.'

Takao kept a straight face as he returned his attention to the hair he was cutting. Did Ray think he was blind _and_ stupid?

* * *

'What's that smell?' Ray wrinkled his nose as he burst into Florence's living room. 'It's all in the hallway . . . crikey, it's even stronger in here. Ah, you've had a visitor.'

'I have been visited,' Florence solemnly agreed, as Ray eyed the teapot and two cups and saucers on the table. 'By Elizabeth.'

'Poor you. What was it this time,' Ray shrugged off his coat, 'more raffle tickets?'

Elizabeth Turnbull, their next-door neighbour, was a divorcee in her mid-forties who devoted half her life to charity fund-raising and the other half to squirting on perfume. She was a nice enough woman, if a bit on the bossy side. Overpowering in every sense of the word.

'Worse.' As she spoke, Florence pushed a couple of stiff white invitations across the table. 'Tickets to a cocktail party, if you please. Twenty quid a head, but they've rustled up a few celebrities,' she raised her asymmetrically pencilled eyebrows, 'so apparently it's a bargain. You get a free glass of champagne and the chance to hob-nob with the rich and famous. And, of course, it's all in the name of a _tremendously_ good cause.'

'I'm sure it'll be _tremendous_ fun, too.' Ray, in turn, mimicked Elizabeth's strident tones. He glanced at the gilt-edged invitations, each one admitting two guests. 'Actually, it might be fun. You could do with a night out.'

'Oh, I'm not going.'

'Why on earth not?'

'The party's being held in a third-floor flat. No elevators in the building.' Drily, Florence added, 'No Stannah Stairlift either. The only way I'd get in is if a helicopter dropped me through the roof.'

'So you paid eighty pounds for tickets and you aren't even going to turn up?' Ray shook his head, bemused. 'Honestly, and you call me a soft touch.'

Florence shrugged. She had her caustic-old-battleaxe image to think of.

'It was the only way to get rid of Elizabeth before the stench of that godawful scent of hers started dissolving the carpet. Anyway, I'll give one of the tickets to Verity and Bruce. The dos being held on their wedding anniversary – those kind of meet-the-celebrity functions are right up their street.'

* * *

Dolphin-san: Oh I'm having so much fun writing this. Please keep reviewing as it's the fuel that drives me. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dolphin-san: S'up people? Here's the next chapter of the fic, and as usual, I hope you enjoy.

Thanks this time to **kailover2006** and **Broken Vows** for reviewing my last chapter. Hoping to get more for this one.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

It didn't help that Bruce kept shaking his head and telling him he looked terrible. Every time he said it, Max longed to blurt out that maybe if he was pregnant and his wife wanted him to have an abortion, he might look terrible too.

But he couldn't.

He didn't dare.

As long as nobody else was aware of the situation, Max felt superstitiously, there was a chance it could somehow sort itself out, be magically resolved.

It didn't seem likely, he had to admit. But you never knew, miracles did happen.

The other reason he was reluctant to tell Bruce was . . . well, his job.

Bruce was his employer, and if Hiro did leave him, he was going to need, rather badly, to stay employed.

Max couldn't help wondering how a man who disapproved of people spending more than thirty seconds in the loo was likely to react to the ides of time off for antenatal appointments, visits to the doctor, maybe a whole day off to actually give birth . . .

No, no, safer all round to keep this kind of news from him, Max thought with a shudder.

For the time being, at least.

* * *

Max felt doubly guilty on Friday morning when Bruce came into the shop carrying a box from the patisserie around the corner.

'You're not eating properly,' Bruce told him, dumping the box on the counter. 'This dieting business doesn't suit you. Here, I picked us up a couple of coffee éclairs.'

Even a fortnight ago, the prospect of a coffee éclair at nine o'clock in the morning would have made him feel sick. Now, gazing longingly at them, Max realised that he was so ravenous he could eat not only both éclairs but the box as well.

'That's really kind.'

Does he really think I look terrible because I'm on a diet?

'Got something else for you too.' Digging in his inside pocket, Bruce pulled out a gilt-edged invitation. 'My mother sent it us. Some charity bash in Belgravia. Sounds pretty good, but we've made other arrangements for that night – it's our wedding anniversary – so I thought you and Hiro could give it a try. Might perk you up a bit.'

'Lovely.' Dutifully, Max studied the invitation. Right now, the only thing capable of perking him up would be a husband with a brain transplant.

'Lots of famous people going.' In case he'd forgotten how to read, Bruce leant forward and pointed to the list of names. 'Wayne Peterson, the footballer. Caroline Newman, she's the one who does that holiday programme. And Daisy Schofield . . .' He hesitated. The name was familiar but he couldn't place it.

'Australian model, sings a bit. And she's acted in a couple of films,' said Max. Hiro had something of a crush on Daisy Schofield, so he was in a position to know.

'Well, should be fun.' Bruce gave him an encouraging wink. 'No getting yourself chatted up by Wayne Peterson, mind. He's a good looking guy.'

Oh yes, highly likely, thought Max. The moment Wayne Peterson claps eyes on me that'll be it, no question.

Bowled over.

Literally, he decided with a rueful smile, if I carry on eating at this rate.

* * *

Hiro waited until Max had left for work the next morning before hauling the suitcases out from under the stairs.

Doing it in this way might seem unkind, but he didn't mean to be. It would be far more upsetting for Max, he knew, to be there to watch him pack.

Easier all round to clear things out while Max was out.

Was that so cruel?

It didn't take him long to fill four suitcases; he wasn't making off with the household appliances, only clothes and a few CDs.

Forty minutes later, Hiro took one last tour around the living room. Not the happiest day of his life, but he'd survive.

None of this is my fault, he told himself, imagining Max's reaction when he came home at five thirty and found his note. It really _isn't_ my fault, though. Max knew the rules and he broke them. How can I be to blame when he forced me into this?

He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It had been a wedding present from his grandmother, but he wouldn't take it with him. He wasn't a bastard, for one thing. This might be the end of the road for himself and Max but that didn't mean they had to turn into the kind of couple who fought over the last curtain hook.

Anyway, what use would he have for a clock like that? He was moving in with his old mate Adrian, whose own wife had run off last year with a stockbroker. The last thing he needed was the chiming brass monstrosity his grandmother had ordered through her catalogue.

Much as he loved her, there was no getting away from the fact, Hiro decided; it was one seriously naff clock.

The gilt-edged invitation was propped up next to it on the mantelpiece. With time on his hands, Hiro picked it up and idly read through it again. Last night, Max had produced the invitation from his bag and said: 'Why don't we go to this? Look, Daisy Schofield's going to be there. You'd like to meet her, wouldn't you?'

It had been, he guessed, Max's way of trying to pretend nothing had happened.

'Max, what's the point?' He had been gentle with him, but firm. 'I've already told you, I'm moving out. If you want to go to the party, you go.'

'I couldn't.' Max's blue eyes filled with tears. 'Not on my own.'

That had been it. Hiro had shrugged. Indicating that this was hardly his fault, and Max had flung the invitation to the floor before rushing from the room. Hiro had been the on to bend down, retrieve it from beneath the coffee table and put it safely on the mantelpiece.

Daisy Schofield.

God, she was gorgeous.

That _body_ . . .

Oh, what the hell, Hiro thought as he slid the invitation into the back pocket of his jeans. It wasn't as if Max was going to be using it, was he?

Let's face it, some opportunities are simply to good to miss.

* * *

It was a clod, bright Sunday. For what seemed like the first time in months, the sky was blue and the sun was out.

Florence was sitting gazing out of her window when she heard Ray clatter down the stairs.

'It's me, I'm going shopping.' He poked his head around Florence's door. 'Anything I can get you?'

'Absolutely. A bottle of Montrachet, please.'

Ray's expressive eyebrows slanted at right angles.

'Sounds like a sneeze. What is it, some kind of cough medicine?'

'Wine. Better that medicine.' Florence wheeled herself across to where her handbag lay. 'Here, let me get you the money.'

'It's all right. I'll pick it up in Tesco. Pay me later.'

Florence waggled the fifty-pound note at him.

'We aren't talking plonk here, this should just about cover it. And you'll have to go to the wine merchants in Kendal Street.'

'Blimey. Special occasion?' Privately Ray thought Florence must be mad. Tesco did some great special offers. If he was in the mood to push the boat out he could get a really nice Australian Chardonnay for £3.99.

'It's April the tenth. Danny's birthday. We always drank Montrachet on his birthday.' Briskly, Florence snapped her purse shut, determined not to sound like a sentimental old fool. 'I've kind of kept up the ritual. Well, we always said we would. It was Danny's favourite wine. Flashy bugger,' she glanced fondly at his photograph, on the table next to her, 'he reckoned he was worth it.'

* * *

When Ray arrived back with the wine an hour later, he found Florence waiting for him by the door.

'Why are you wearing a hat?'

'It's cold outside.' Florence adjusted the tilt of her jaunty red fedora. 'You've been ages. The cab will be here any minute.' She took the tissue-wrapped bottle as carefully as a newborn baby. 'Was the fifty enough?'

'Three pounds change. Where are you going?'

'Hampstead Heath. Parliament Hill.' Florence grinned at the expression on Ray's face. 'The sun's shining. I could do with the fresh air. Anyway, it's where Danny and I first met.'

'People will stare at you.'

'Oh well, I'm used to that.'

'You're going to sit on Parliament Hill drinking a forty-seven-pound bottle of wine?' Ray said in disbelief. 'Have you got a corkscrew?'

'I'm in a wheelchair.' Comfortably, Florence patted her bag. 'I'm not senile.'

The bag, when she'd patted it, had made a clinking noise. As a minicab pulled up outside, Ray said cautiously, 'Two glasses. One for you and one for . . . ?'

If Florence said, 'Danny,' he would have to stop her. There was such a thing as too weird.

'You of course.' Florence opened the door and began to wheel herself through it. 'Who else is going to push me up that bloody hill?'

* * *

Dolphin-san: Review please. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Dolphin****-san: **Hey there! I'm back with another update. It's so much fun writing this you know. Any way, enjoy.

And thanks this time to **Seto's Nice Girl, Shain **and **Broken Vows **for reviewing the last chapter. It always makes me happy to know someone out there likes my writing, and I enjoy reading the reviews to see what people think of it (especially BV's last one, that made me laugh so much. I totally agree with you on the strangling part, he he).

* * *

**Chapter**** 5**

The view over Hampstead was breathtaking. White clouds scudded across a duck-egg-blue sky and the kite flyers were out in force. Ray, feeling the cold, dug his woolly orange beret out of his jacket pocket and pulled it on, Benny Hill style, over his tingling ears.

Florence held the glasses on her lap and Ray wrestled the cork out of the bottle. When the wine was poured, they toasted Danny and clinked glasses. Reverently taking his first sip, Ray tried hard – and failed utterly – to appreciate the finer points of a £47-a-bottle wine.

'Mm, yum,' he lied.

'Ha, and I'm the Queen of Spain. Doesn't matter if you don't like it,' Florence said cheerfully, polishing off her first glassful and smacking her lips. 'I'll manage the rest.'

To steer the subject away from his own shameful ignorance, Ray huffed on his frozen hands and said, 'So how did you and Danny meet?'

'Haven't I told you before? Oh, it's a great story.' Florence held her glass out for a refill. 'I was up here one Sunday with Bruce. He had a new bike and I wouldn't let him out on the roads. So of course he set out to prove he could ride the damn thing – he was eight, you know what they're like at that age – and the next minute he was hurtling out of control down that path there.' She nodded in the direction of the narrow path curving to the left below them. 'Poor little sod ended up going slap into a tree.'

'You've never told me this!' Enthralled, Ray leaned closer, cross-legged on the grass. It wasn't difficult to imagine Bruce as a stubborn eight-year-old. 'What happened next?'

'Blood and teeth everywhere. One wrecked bike, one sprained knee. Bruce was screaming blue murder and there was me without so much as a tissue to mop up the blood.'

'Poor Bruce.'

'Poor me! I was in a complete flap. Bruce wasn't the only one in tears, I can tell you.'

'Hang on, I can guess the rest,' Ray said excitedly. 'Then – trumpets, trumpets! – over the hill came Danny riding to the rescue on his motorbike' – he had heard all about Danny's devotion to his Norton 500 – 'with a first-aid kit slung over one shoulder and a big bag of false teeth on the other.'

Florence chuckled.

'Not quite. Over the hill came Danny, on foot and hung-over, making his way back to Highgate after an all-night party. But he came to the rescue, bless his heart, and he had a clean handkerchief, which was more than I did. He cleaned up Bruce's mouth, managed to stop him screaming and insisted on giving him a piggy-back ride home. He even carried the smashed-up bike,' Florence remembered fondly. 'It's a wonder he didn't have a heart attack there and then. Well, that was it as far as I was concerned. Love at first sight. There was Danny with his Clark Gable hair – that was when he still had hair, of course – and me trotting along carrying his dinner jacket. Bruce was dripping blood all over his white evening shirt and he wasn't even bothered. He made us both laugh. And he wasn't even doing it to impress me, because as far as he was concerned I was just a young housewife in need of a hand. When we got back to the house he said, "Your husbands going to have his work cut out for him getting that bike fixed."'

'This is _so_ romantic,' Ray sighed. 'And . . . ?'

'I said, "He certainly is, seeing as he died three years ago."'

Ray wrapped his arms around his knees in delight. 'Then what?'

'Well, he just stood there for a minute, grinning at me. Then he said, "In that case, I'd love an aspirin and a cup of tea."'

'Oh! Did he mend the bike as well?'

'I suggested it.' Florence snorted with laughter. 'He told me he wasn't the fixing type. When things got broken, he bought new ones.'

'And did he buy Bruce another bike?'

'Certainly did, four days later.' Florence waggled her left hand at Ray. 'And so I wouldn't feel left out, an engagement ring for me.'

Having disposed of the rest of the bottle, Florence contentedly closed her eyes and said, 'Okay for five minutes while I have a little snooze?'

Ray sat back, stretching out his legs and propping himself up on his elbows. In this position he could enjoy the faint warmth of the sun on his face and view the kites performing their colourful acrobatics in the sky.

Squinting in the sunlight, he surveyed the panoramic view spread out before him. There in the distance was St Paul's Cathedral, pointing up into the sky like a silicon-stuffed Hollywood breast. And there was Big Ben. To the east stood Canary Wharf, and the old Caledonian market clock tower. To the west, the chimneys of Battersea power station and the Trellick Tower. Heavens, it made you realise how vast – and how electrically beautiful – London really was.

But the unaccustomed brightness of the sun soon made his eyes water. To give them a rest, Ray turned his attention to a battered green BMW being driven slowly along the road below him. Idly he followed its progress until it braked and reversed into a parking space. Seconds later the passenger door was flung open and a boy around five or six jumped out onto the grass verge.

Ray watched the driver emerge from the other side, open the car's boot and take out a white and yellow kite. From this angle his face wasn't visible, but at a guess he was around his mid-twenties, had dark hair like his son poking out from under his baseball cap and wearing a white rugby shirt and faded jeans.

Another Sunday father, thought Ray, bring his child out for a spot of kite-flying then whisking him of for a burger at McDonald's before depositing him back with his mother at the designated time.

Hampstead Heath was full of them.

The spiralling divorce rate had done the fast-food business no harm at all.

As Florence dozed peacefully beside him, Ray watched the boy yell out instructions to his dad. Dad was evidently no expert; as they edged their way up the hill he unravelled the nylon line and made two or three unsuccessful attempts to get the kite airborne.

Ray smirked as he threw it up again, this time narrowly avoiding decapitation. He heard his son yell out in disgust, 'You're useless! Come on, let _me_ have a go.'

They were closer now, moving towards him. The man said, 'Charming manners, Charlie, you take after your mother.'

'She says you've always been a hopeless case. You can't even put a shelf up straight.'

'Maybe I don't want to. Anyway, you're mother's not so clever herself,' he retorted. 'Ask her how many times she's panged the car trying to reverse it into the garage.'

Ray watched the boy impatiently seize control of the kite. Playing one adult off the other, he thought, feeling sorry for him. Poor little lad, caught in the middle between two warring parents.

It couldn't be much fun.

Except . . . wasn't there something oddly familiar about the father's voice? A familiarity that for some reason didn't quite fit with the visual image of the man twenty yards in front of him, now struggling to untangle a section of line which had somehow managed to knot itself around both legs?

Ray sat up, hugging his knees and pushing his beret to the top of his forehead in order to get a better look. He was sure he wasn't a visitor to the salon.

Damn, where have I heard that voice before? he thought with mounting frustration. And why do I keep feeling something isn't right?

The kite, miraculously, made it up into the air. The boy let out a whoop of delight and galloped a few yards further up the grassy slope.

'You did it, you did it!'

'Now who's useless?' his father demanded with a triumphant grin.

'Don't let it crash!'

'It's okay, I've got the hang of it now. A genius, that's what I am, and you can tell your mother that when we get back.'

The wind was taking control, carrying the kite towards the top of the hill. Following his son, the man moved closer to Ray. Next to him, Florence snored peacefully in her wheelchair. Glancing across at them, the man smiled.

The moment his dark eyes locked with Ray's, he knew.

Oh no, _it couldn't be_.

But it was.

It was him.

The beggar from Brompton Road.

His whole body stiffened in disbelief. Incredibly, the man was still grinning at him.

He hasn't recognised me, thought Ray. He spends his life sitting on his bum watching the world go by. For God's sake, how can _he_ not recognise _me_?

Outraged, he shoved a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. The orange beret, already tipped to the back of his head, promptly slid off.

At last, with his spiky blue-and green-tipped hair revealed, the penny dropped. His broad smile faltered and faded. The kite was momentarily forgotten.

The kite, taking advantage of this lapse in concentration, swallow-dived to the ground.

'You let it crash!' wailed the boy, racing after it. 'You're supposed to keep the line tight. Come on, pay attention, make it fly again!'

Florence woke up from her doze with a start. Next to her, using the arm rest of the wheelchair for leverage, Ray was scrambling to his feet. Florence heard him say in a low voice trembling with fury, 'You cheat, you bloody despicable liar, how can you _live_ with yourself?'

Florence brightened at once. Well, well, this was a turn-up for the books. She'd never heard Ray have a go at anyone before.

Peering around Ray's quivering form, Florence eyed with interest the object of his rage. Tall, two-toned hair sticking out from a baseball cap and rather good-looking – if currently a bit shell-shocked – hmm, not bad at all. In excellent shape, too, from what she could see.

One of Ray's hapless ex-boyfriends, Florence guessed. Presumably one who'd done the dirty on him. Well, no wonder he was upset.

'Look, I can explain –' he began, but Ray held up both hands to stop him.

'Oh, please don't, we already know what a great actor you are.' He spat the words out with contempt. 'Tell me, is that why you and your wife split up? Did she find out how you were spending your day's and kick you out? Does your son know he has a con-artist for a father?' He longed to yell the accusations at the top of his voice but the boy was only yards away. For his sake, Ray managed to control himself.

The man, looking startled, followed the direction of his gaze. Turning back to Ray, he said with a placatory half-smile, 'I promise you, I can really explain. For a start, I'm not married. And Charlie's not my son, he's –'

'Come and _help_ me!' howled the boy, now firmly entangled in the kite's line. 'You're wasting time – Mum said we had to be back by four.'

'You're damn right you can explain,' Ray hissed, kicking the brakes off Florence's chair and yanking her in the direction of the path. 'You can explain why you take my money and eat my prawn sandwiches when you clearly earn more than I do.' He was flinging the words over his shoulder as he jolted the wheelchair over the uneven ground. 'And you can explain why you drive a BMW,' he bellowed. 'Because you make me _sick_!'

'Wait,' he called after Ray, but further up the hill his son was yelling for him and Ray was by this time scooting downhill with the wheelchair at a rate of knots.

Relieved to reach the bottom in one piece, Florence said sympathetically, 'The best-looking ones are always the biggest bastards.'

She patted Ray's thin arm, sensing it was best not to mention the two rather good Waterford crystal glasses they had left at the top of the hill. 'What happened, he forgot to mention he was married?'

Poor, impulsive Ray, he deserved better than that. Still, if he wanted to impress a man, he really should learn to cook, Florence privately felt. When you invited someone round for dinner, you couldn't expect them to be too bowled over by a prawn sandwich.

* * *

**Dolphin-san: **Yay! The man from the street has re-appeared (I refuse to call him a beggar, because he _never_ begs). What's going on? Why was he pretending to be poor? And how is he supposed to explain it to Ray, the poor guy? Well, you'll just have to wait until I update to find out. Ha! 


	6. Chapter 6

**Dolphin-san: **Hey there y'all! The next chapter is complete.

Thanks to **Broken Vows, ****Kiara Kitsune **and **kailover2006 **for reviewing chapter 5. And to **kailover2006**I kinda thought it was obvious from chapter 1 who was pregnant, seeing as Max bought a pregnancy test for himself. But I apologise to anyone who didn't get it. I'll try to make it more obvious in future.

* * *

**Chapter**** 6**

Max, flicking without much enthusiasm through a magazine in the doctor's waiting room at ten to nine on Monday morning, came across an article detailing the break-up of some minor celebrity's marriage.

In the accompanying photograph the woman – an actress in her late thirties – was looking suitably devastated in full make-up and a short clinging dress that showed off . . . well, practically everything.

The article was headlined: EVERY NIGHT I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP.

Lucky you, thought Max, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. I cry every night but I still can't sleep.

How much could he seriously be expected to sympathise, anyway, with a woman who clearly didn't cry much at all? She was wearing mascara, wasn't she? Her eyes weren't permanently swollen like a frog's. Furthermore, she had a teeny-weeny waist.

Hating her, Max threw the magazine back on the pile. He shifted on his uncomfortable moulded plastic chair – moulded for someone with a far smaller bottom than his, by the feel of it – and eased a finger under the safety pin straining to hold together the waistband of his loose jeans.

There was a poster blu-tacked up on the wall opposite him. It said: _Postnatal Depression?_

I've got pre-natal depression, thought Max. Ha, beat that.

'Max Granger,' the tinny voice of the doctor announced over the intercom, 'to room six.'

In the space of the next five minutes, everything became astonishingly real. Armed with the date that Max said was when he started to feel strange, the doctor twiddled a circular chart contraption, consulted a calendar, then pronounced, 'Your baby is due to arrive on Tuesday the third of December.'

Max gazed at him. He spoke with such certainty.

Heavens. Move over, Mystic Meg.

'Call it an early Christmas present.' The doctor smiled at his stunned expression. 'So, everything okay? Husband happy with it?'

Uh oh, here we go.

'He left me five days ago,' said Max, and waited to burst into tears.

The doctor looked as if he were waiting for him to burst into tears too.

Max wondered why it wasn't happening.

Instead, the doctor's words, _Your baby is due to arrive on Tuesday the third of December_, kept dancing through his mind.

Somehow, miraculously, they seemed more important than the brutal ones Hiro had flung at him last week.

'He's never wanted children,' Max told the doctor, marvelling at the steadiness of his own voice. 'But it's okay, I'll cope.'

Well, cope might be putting it a bit strongly. Somehow muddle through was probably nearer the mark.

'In that case, let's pop you on the scales,' said the doctor.

Oh dear, how dainty. That was what you did in the supermarket with a bag of seedless grapes.

'I'm only seven weeks in and I've already put on loads of weight.'

Max kicked off his shoes, embarrassed, and shuffled over to the scales. 'I can't stop eating, I just feel so hungry all the time.'

'Don't worry about it. Just try and eat healthily.'

How healthy was pecan toffee ice cream? And bags of liquorice allsorts? Not to mention strawberry Angel Delight.

'Morning sickness, that's what I need.' Max sounded rueful. 'I keep waiting for it to happen and it just won't.'

Amused, the doctor tut-tutted.

'My wife's pregnant. If she could hear you now, she'd hit you over the head with her sick bag. You stay as you are,' he advised Max good naturedly. 'You're a lucky boy.'

Was he a real doctor?

Or, Max wondered, an escaped lunatic masquerading as one?

Me, a _lucky __boy_?

* * *

'You're late,' said Takao.

'I know, I'm sorry.' As he swung round to face Takao, Ray caught a glimpse of his frazzled reflection in one of the salon mirrors. Well, was it any wonder he was looking frazzled? 'Oh, but Takao, you'll never believe what happened!'

Excuses? Takao had heard them all.

'Don't tell me. You were seized by a gang of kidnappers and held hostage,' he guessed, 'until they found out nobody was going to pay to get you back, so they let you go.'

'Oh ha ha.' Ray was clearly miffed. 'I'm being serious.'

'The tube was held up. Body on the line.'

Always a trusty stand-by. It was a wonder London still had a population, the number of times Takao had heard this one.

He got glared at.

'No.'

'Okay, a kitten ran out into the road and you just had to rescue it.'

Takao was grinning. Ray could have hit him. The kitten excuse was a standing joke at the salon. The really frustrating thing about it was, it had once actually happened. It was one of his few genuine excuses and nobody – _nobody_ – had ever believed him.

'If you must know, I've been out looking for that beggar,' he announced. Takao might be a pig, but he was bursting to tell someone. 'You know, the one who sits outside the shoe shop?'

'You mean the beggar you gave Alice Tavistock's money to?' Entertained, Takao raised an eyebrow. 'The one you keep insisting isn't a beggar because he never begs?'

'Okay, okay, don't rub it in.' Impatiently Ray waved the interruption aside. 'Anyway, it turns out he isn't a real beggar at all. He's not hungry and he isn't homeless – he's a total _fake_. I saw him yesterday on Hampstead Heath wearing normal clothes. He was with his son, flying a kite. And you'll never guess what kind of car he drives.' His golden eyes flashed with renewed outrage as the words tumbled out. 'Only a BMW.'

Takao tried not to smile. Poor Ray, he was positively fizzing with indignation. All his illusions, so brutally shattered.

'Well, it happens.' His voice was mild.

'I gave him a scarf and a pair of gl –' in the nick of time Ray stopped himself, 'er . . . glasses, an old pair of sunglasses.'

Nodding slowly, Takao said, 'I see, sunglasses. Always useful.'

'I can't believe I was so stupid. The whole time he must have been laughing at me. Can you believe it?' Ray seethed. 'A bloody BMW.'

'So did you say anything to him yesterday?'

'Well, a bit, but his little boy was there. Anyway, I've thought of a whole _load_ more things to yell at him today.' In fact Ray had lain awake half the night coming up with bigger and better insults. In the end there were so many he'd had to write them down. 'Look, here's my list.'

It was a big list. Takao could just imagine Ray standing over the poor fellow in the street, bawling, 'Wait, wait, I haven't _nearly_ finished yet!'

'Well, good,' he told Ray mildly. 'But I'd prefer it if you confronted him in your own time, not mine.'

* * *

He wasn't there at lunch time.

'Look on the bright side,' said Bev, whom Ray had dragged along for moral – and physical – support. 'At least you won't have to share your lunch anymore.'

This didn't console Ray. There was a nasty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He was beginning to suspect he'd blown the whole operation.

'I bet he's moved to another pitch.' Gloomily he shoved his hands into his pockets. 'Damn, I should have kept my mouth shut yesterday.'

There again, keeping quiet had never been his forte.

Bev was just relieved that she'd be getting back to the salon with her expensive false nails intact. She wrapped a consoling arm around Ray's shoulders.

'Hey, cheer up. Maybe you've frightened him into going straight.'

* * *

By ten to six the last client had left. Ray was in the back room unloading the tumble dryer and folding a mountain of midnight-blue towels – the Takao Kinomiya signature colour – into neat piles.

Well, neatish.

When Bev put her head around the door there was an odd expression on her face.

'Someone's here to see you.'

Ray looked at her. It was actually a really weird expression; Bev seemed half enthralled, half perplexed.

'Who?'

'He didn't say. And he doesn't know your name either, he just asked to speak with the boy with the magpie hair.'

Hastily, because Takao would kill him if he didn't, Ray semi-folded the last of the towels before bundling them up on to the shelf. He hadn't mentioned it to Takao – well, you don't, do you? – but one of his clients this morning had come into the salon with her son, who'd shown definite signs of interest in him. He'd been good fun. Good-looking, too. And – Ray had discovered – he was a policeman!

He'd always had a bit of a weakness for men in uniform.

And now he's off duty, Ray thought with a rush of excitement, he's come to find me again.

Whisked away from your workplace, hmm, very _Officer and a __Gentleman_ daydreamed Ray. And how apt, seeing as he actually _was_ a police officer!

Although maybe not a terribly bright one, if the guy hadn't even remembered his name.

_Hup_, the last of the towels flew through the air, landing – more or less – on the top shelf.

'It's okay, I think I know who it is.' Eyes shining, Ray pushed his magpie hair behind his ears and presented himself to Bev for inspection. 'Do I look alright?'

'Fine,' Bev was still bemused, 'but –'

'Don't be surprised if he picks me up and carries me out of here,' Ray fantasised happily. 'You can clap and cheer if you like. Oh, but don't say: Is that a truncheon in your pocket or are you just pleased to see him? Because it might be a truncheon and that would be really embarr –'

'Will you stop wittering on and get out there?' Exasperated, Bev gave him a hefty shove in the direction of the door. 'He can't wait for ever, he's parked on double yellows.'

Hang on, something not quite right here, thought Ray.

Policemen were honest, law-abiding citizens, weren't they?

Surely they wouldn't park on yellow lines?

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** There we go. I hope that made it clearer who was pregnant. Go Max for not crying, eh? I'll try and update soon so that you don't have to wait too long to find out who's looking for Ray.

Oh yeah, before I forget. I'm looking for a beta reader for the future chapters. I need someone to help look for mistakes I might be making, as I have what I like to call selective reading. My eyes can skip over quite a lot of text and not take it in, but continue later in the paragraph or page as though I didn't just miss half of what I'm reading. So if anyone out there in Fan Fiction land wants to be nice and give me a little hand every now and then, tell me in a review and I'll get back to you.

Ja Ne .


	7. Chapter 7

**Dolphin-san: **Hey there. I know that last time I updated I asked if someone could give me a hand and beta my work, but I've been trying to send this chapter to one of the people who volunteered to help for the last couple of hours, and its not working, so I give up. If you come across something like bad spelling or grammar then please tell me in a review.

Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

'Here he is,' said Takao, who was pulling on his jacket and preparing to lock up. 'What happened, Ray? We were beginning to think you'd fallen into the tumble dryer.'

Ray didn't even hear him. He was too busy looking at Hungry and Homeless.

With his shiny clean hair.

And his red crewneck sweater worn over a dark green shirt.

And his black trousers and highly polished black shoes.

Slowly, very slowly, he breathed in.

And his Christian Dior _aftershave_ . . .

'Time for that explanation now?' His light eyebrows lifted slightly as he spoke. 'I could take you out to dinner if you're hungry. Or if you'd prefer, just a drink.'

Ray had a small but interested audience. Bev, Corinne and Lucy, all with their coats on, were loitering at the desk, clearly dying to know what he'd been getting up to in his free time.

This guy's spent the last month sitting outside the shoe shop up the road, he marvelled. Between them, they must have walked past him at least fifty times.

And none of them had the slightest idea who he was.

'Why would I want to have dinner with you?' Ray squealed, outraged by his colossal nerve. 'I mean, seriously, how gullible do you think I am?'

'So,' the guy grinned at him, 'just a drink then.'

'_No_.' Ray backed away as the man reached into his back pocket. 'No dinner, no drink, no nothing. How do I know you're not a raving psychopath?'

Having pulled his wallet out of his pocket, he said in a reassuring voice, 'Actually, that's a good sign. If you really thought I was a psychopath, you'd have kept it to yourself, you wouldn't accuse me of being one. I'm not, anyway,' he went on, sliding a card out of the wallet and holding it towards Ray. 'I'm a journalist.'

Ray looked at the NUJ card. It belonged to someone called Kai Hiwatari.

There wasn't a photograph on it. 'All this tells me is that you mugged a journalist and stole his wallet.'

His expression truculent, Ray shrugged and passed the card back.

Takao intercepted it.

'Ray, come on, lighten up. The guy's a journalist. He was researching a piece about how it feels to be out on the streets. You blew his cover and called him some terrible names, but _still_ he's forgiven you.' Takao reached for the door; it was time to lock up and go home. 'For heavens sake, let him buy you dinner.'

Ray hesitated. Behind Takao, Bev was saucer-eyed and nodding so fast her false eyelashes were in danger of falling off.

Nothing about Bev was real.

'Just something simple, a pizza maybe.' Kai Hiwatari – _if_ that was his name – gave him a nod of encouragement.

Sod that, Ray though indignantly, he owes me more than a lousy pizza.

If he's taking me to dinner, we're going to go somewhere expensive.

* * *

They went to Langan's Brasserie, an Stratton Street. It wasn't a restaurant Ray had ever been to before, nut he'd heard enough about it to know it probably cost a bomb.

Well, good.

As far as Ray was concerned, the bigger the bomb the better.

And he was going to order the priciest thing on the menu.

'I'm glad you changed your mind about coming out,' said Kai Hiwatari, when the waiter had taken their order.

'I didn't have a lot of choice.'

Ray fiddled with his cutlery. He still had a terrible urge to pinch the other man. He had humiliated him and he couldn't forgive him just like that.

'I've got your wine glasses in the car, by the way. You left them behind yesterday.'

His eyes were friendly. He was willing Ray to smile back at him.

'Look, what do you expect me to do?' Ray demanded stroppily. 'Say thank you and apologise for yelling at you? Because I don't see why I should. You made a fool of me, you let me give you sandwiches . . . and chocolate . . . and a crappy old scarf . . . Do you have any idea how _stupid_ that makes me feel?'

'Okay, let me explain.' His voice was soothing, as if he were dealing with a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. 'I couldn't give your food to a genuine homeless person but I made a donation in your name to the Salvation Army, so someone else could have a meal on your behalf. And any money I was given went to them too. You don't have to worry,' he assured Ray, 'nobody missed out.'

Except me, thought Ray, all the times I shared my lunch with you when I could have eaten it all myself.

Depriving oneself of chocolate wasn't the easiest thing to do. Heavens, it was practically an unnatural act.

Ray sighed, silently mourning the loss of all those Mars Bars.

'So how long do you have to keep this up?' Curiosity finally overcame belligerence. 'Seems like a lot of work for one article.'

'I've finished. Friday was my last day.' His dark eyes registered amusement. 'You can have your scarf back as well, if you like.'

Their first course arrived. Ray dived greedily into his scallops.

'Bet you were glad to be able to wash your hair.'

'I washed it every night,' said Kai Hiwatari. With a shrug he added, 'And rubbed Mazola into it every morning.'

Ugh, imagine.

'Still seems like a lot for one magazine article.'

He laid down his fork and looked at Ray.

'What?' Ray wondered why he was looking at him like that. 'Do I have cream on my chin?'

'No. This wasn't for a magazine article. It's for TV.'

'Don't be daft,' Ray scoffed, 'you need cameras for TV. You need lights, and those clapperboard things, and directors with megaphones shouting _Action_.'

'For _Lethal Weapon_, maybe,' said Kai Hiwatari, 'but not for a documentary. Not this kind anyway.'

'You still need a camera.'

He nodded.

'I know.'

'And you definitely didn't have one.'

'Actually, we did. In the shoe shop.'

Oh, good grief. Ray almost choked on a scallop. If the camera had been strategically placed behind him, that meant . . .

'Are you telling me I'm going to be _in_ this documentary?'

'Oh yes. The producer's crazy about you. If he has his way,' Kai Hiwatari looked as if he was enjoying himself, 'you'll end up a star.'

Ray was appalled. Terrible mental images spiralled through his mind, all of the times he'd raced up the road to see him in his scruffy black jacket with the wind and rain splattering his hair in all directions.

Oh God, and when it was cold his nose always went bright red, like a Comic Relief one.

'That is _so_ unfair,' he blurted out, loudly enough to startle the couple at the next table. 'Why couldn't you have warned me? What am I going to _look _like?'

Amused, Kai Hiwatari said, 'According to Tony, everyone's going to fall in love with you.'

'Oh yes, and by this time next year I'll be a world-famous model, all five foot eight of me.' It wasn't funny. Ray quailed, imagining the hideous footage they must have of him on their beastly hidden camera. 'Couldn't you do some of the filming again?' he pleaded desperately. 'Give me a chance to comb my hair and make myself presentable?'

'You shared your lunch with me. How you look isn't important.'

'You could blur me out,' Ray had a brainwave, 'have one of those splodgy things covering my face, like they do with criminals who aren't allowed to be identified.'

'Look, if you're really against this,' said Kai Hiwatari, 'you could always say no.'

Ray gazed at him, startled.

'I can?'

'Obviously we need your permission to use you. If it bothers you that much,' he said simply, 'refuse to give it.'

'Oh!'

Ray was taken aback. He hadn't expected him to say this.

He wasn't completely anti the thought of being on television. In fact, secretly, he was quite taken with the idea.

If only he could appear looking . . . well, a bit _better_.

More of a human being basically. And less like of a dog.

Yuck, dilemma.

Kai Hiwatari had finished his first course. 'You're dithering. Maybe you should just say no.' Nodding at Ray's plate, he added, 'I won't get stroppy and march you out of here, if that's what you're worried about. You can finish your meal. Although . . .'

Ray hurriedly forked the last scallop into his mouth before he could change his mind.

'Although what?'

'No, I was just thinking it could be nice publicity for the salon.' He shrugged, indicating the Takao Kinomiya logo on the front of Ray's midnight-blue T-shirt. 'But that wouldn't benefit you, would it? Only your boss.'

Only his boss?

Ray's brain leapt to attention. Kai Hiwatari might have dismissed the idea already, but that was because he didn't know him.

It was actually a powerful incentive.

The prospect of massive Brownie points wasn't to be sneezed at. Particularly by a humble employee who couldn't help feeling sometimes that he was only hanging on to his job by the skin of his teeth.

For instance, thought Ray, someone like me.

Actually, quite a lot like me.

'Publicity for the salon would be good,' he agreed cautiously as their next course arrived. 'I'd be happy with that.' His lamb cutlets glistened in the candlelight, weakening his resolve. 'Oh, I don't know . . . it's just the thought of all those people seeing me on TV and yelling, "God, look at the state of him, what a _loser_." They'd probably think I fancied you.' Ray winced at the idea. 'That I'm so sad, ugly and desperate that chatting up beggars and bribing them with sandwiches is my only hope.'

It would have been nice if, at this point, Kai Hiwatari could have protested, 'Oh now, come along, you're not ugly!'

But he didn't. Chivalry clearly wasn't his thing. He just smiled that irritating half-smile of his again and said, 'Okay, they might think that.'

Thanks a lot, thought Ray, deeply miffed.

'Then again, when they see you being interviewed in the second half of the programme . . . well, that's when they'll realise they were wrong, won't they?'

Interviewed?

Ray's glass of wine was halfway to his mouth. It stopped dead.

'Hang on, what interview?'

'It's a fifty-minute programme. In the first half,' Kai Hiwatari explained, 'we use the hidden camera footage. The viewers get the chance to make up their own minds about the people they see. People like you, who try and help, as well as the other kind,' he said evenly, 'the ones who yelled at me to get a job. Not to mention the bunch of kids who stole my money and gave me a kicking.'

Ray's eyes widened in horror.

'They didn't! Were you hurt?'

'Pretty bruised.' Briefly he pushed up the sleeve of his sweater, revealing the boot-shaped mark on his forearm. 'I won't show you the rest.'

'Bastards!'

Ray had forgotten all about dinner. The lamb cutlets were growing cold on his plate.

'Goes with the territory.' With a shrug, Kai rolled his sleeve down again. 'Anyway, so that's the first half. In the second, we run a series of interviews with the people our audience have come to know. Most of them good, some bad. You'd be one of the good guys, of course.' He paused for a second. 'That is, if you agreed to appear.'

Oh well, this changed _everything_.

'Where would I be interviewed?'

Ray was by this time quite breathless with excitement.

'That's up to you. The plan is to interweave different strands. Walking along the street . . . at work . . . in your own home, if you'd be happy with that. You're a young guy, a salon junior,' he explained with enthusiasm, 'without much money yourself. If the viewers see you living in a crappy bedsitter, they'll warm to you even more.'

Crappy bedsitter?

'If my landlady heard you saying that,' Ray told him, 'she'd run you over with her wheelchair.'

'That was your landlady, was it? I thought she must be your grandmother.'

'Oh dear, now she's going to run you over twice.'

Kai shook his head.

'I'm sorry, I'm a journalist, I can't help asking questions. What were you doing out with your landlady yesterday, drinking wine up on Parliament Hill?'

'She has arthritis. I look after her a bit, do stuff do her, in exchange for not paying much rent.' Forking up some asparagus, Ray moved swiftly on to more interesting matters. 'So in these interviews I'd be able to wear nice clothes?'

'Of course.'

'And I could have my hair looking nice?'

Solemnly, Kai Hiwatari nodded.

'So they'd definitely know I wasn't ugly and desperate.' Ray heaved a sigh of relief. That's fine then, I'll do it.'

'Great.'

Belatedly, a horrid thought struck him.

'Oh! Except there's one bit you mustn't show.'

'Don't tell me,' Kai Hiwatari intercepted with a grin, 'the stolen gloves.'

Ray was indignant. 'How did you know?'

'Tony and I ran through a few tapes this morning. That was his favourite bit.'

'Well he can't use it,' Ray said firmly.

''I did warn him.' Another broad grin. 'I had a feeling you might say that.'

The bill for the meal was astronomical. Ray determinedly didn't feel guilty; if Kai Hiwatari was involved in making TV programmes, he must be rolling in it.

Anyway, there was still the small matter of the other lie he had told him. A totally unnecessary lie, Ray thought, considering that when he'd said it, his cover had already been blown.

'You still haven't told me why you and your landlady were out on the heath yesterday, drinking wine out of Waterford crystal glasses.'

He was driving Ray home in his scruffy BMW. Ray, sitting next to him nursing the two glasses on his lap, cast a sidelong glance at the others profile.

'And you haven't told me why you said you weren't married.'

The traffic lights ahead turned red. Kai braked and turned to look at Ray.

'Because I'm not.'

He sounded so genuinely surprised. Fine, Ray accepted that. You didn't have to be married to have a child.

'Okay,' he persisted, 'but you were with your son yesterday. Why did you say you weren't his father?'

'Charlie, you mean? I'm _not_ his father.'

Journalists, honestly. You couldn't trust them farther than you could throw them.

Kai Hiwatari's mouth was twitching. The lights turned green and he let out the clutch.

'Charlie's my sister's son. I'm his uncle.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Well there you go. The little boy wasn't Kai's son, or little brother, but his nephew! Well, please review people.

Ja Ne


	8. Chapter 8

**Dolphin-san: **Hey there, here's the latest chapter for all you lovely people out there in fan fiction land.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

'Verity and I are throwing a small party this evening.' Bruce popped his head around the door of the back room, where Max was on his knees unpacking stained-glass lampshades. 'Nothing elaborate, just a spur-of-the-moment thing –'

'You'd like me to look after Jason for a couple of hours?' Max looked up from his sea of bubble wrap.

'No, no, Jason's staying at a friend's house,' Bruce assured him. 'That isn't why I mentioned it. Actually, we wondered if you and Hiro would like to come along. Seven until ten, drinks and canapés. Nothing elaborate, just a friendly gesture,' he explained, 'to welcome our new neighbours.'

Since discovering last night that their new neighbours were a bank manager and his accountant wife, Bruce had decided a welcome party was definitely in order. It never did any harm to be on excellent terms, socially, with a bank manager.

'Well?' he prompted, wondering why Max wasn't saying anything. 'Is that a yes?' To encourage him, Bruce added, 'We haven't seen Hiro for a while.'

You're not the only one, thought Max, breaking into a light sweat.

Still, maybe this was the opener he needed. Bruce had to know sooner or later, and Max had been having palpitations wondering how to announce it.

Oh, by the way Bruce, I've been dumped.

Max licked his lips. Bruce was still peering down at him.

'Bruce, the thing is, Hiro and I aren't together anymore. We've . . . um, separated.'

There, done.

Oh bugger, thought Max, as his eyes filled with tears.

'Good grief.' Bruce took a step backwards. Tears weren't his thing at all. 'Why?'

'Oh, you know,' Max mumbled. 'Things just weren't working out.'

'Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Can't . . . er, be easy.'

It was Bruce's turn to nervously lick his lips. We must look like a couple of cannibals, thought Max.

'I'll be okay.'

Bruce shifted from one foot to the other.

'Do you . . . um, want to talk about it?'

Alarmed, Max shook his head.

'No, no, really, it's fine.'

Bruce was hugely relieved. To him, emotions were a minefield best steered well clear of.

At least he'd offered, he told himself. When Verity pressed him for the gory details tonight, wanting to know who'd left who and if Hiro had run off with another man, he'd be able to say, 'He didn't want to talk about it.'

'So.' Bruce's tone was hearty; he rubbed his hands together in a let's-change-the-subject way. 'How about that little get-together tonight then? You'll still come, won't you? You and Verity could have a good old chat –'

'Thanks,' Max blurted out, 'but I'm not really up to it at the moment. I wouldn't be much fun. Another time, maybe.'

Bruce put on an understanding face. At least he knew now hwy Max – certainly no slouch in the looks department – had been looking so pallid and puffy-eyed of late.

'Of course,' he assured Max. 'Don't worry about it.'

'But . . . um, if you ever need a babysitter I'd be happy to do it.' Max knew he was gabbling; still, now seemed as good a time as any. 'As much babysitting as you like, actually.' May as well be upfront about it. 'The thing is, I could do with the money. Oh, I'm not asking for a pay rise,' he went on hurriedly, intercepting the look of horror on Bruce's pudgy face. 'It's just paying the rent on the flat is going to be a bit of a tight squeeze. So any extra work I can do . . . well, it'll come in handy.'

'Right, I see.'

Bruce's tone was guarded.

'I'm not looking for another _proper_ job,' Max rushed to reassure him. 'I love working here.'

True. Well, fairly true.

Anyway, changing job now would mean he wouldn't be entitled to any maternity benefits.

Bruce visibly relaxed.

'Okay, I'll let Verity know. I'm sure we can work something out. And you get on well with Jason,' he added encouragingly. 'That's a plus.'

It was more than that, it was a downright miracle. According to Hiro, if Bruce and Verity wanted to earn themselves a quick buck they should cart their beloved son along to the headquarters of the nearest condom manufacturers. Feature Jason in a series of adverts for their product, Hiro had declared – often – and condom sales would go through the ozone layer.

'If you don't get one of these,' he had intoned, dangling an imaginary condom from his fingers then affecting a look of horror, 'You'll get one of _these_.'

And I had laughed, Max remembered.

Well, it had seemed funny at the time.

The trouble was, it wasn't actually funny at all.

Bruce left the back room and Max went back to unpacking lampshades.

Bundling a mountain of bubble-wrap into an empty box, he forced himself not to think about Hiro.

Two minutes later he lurched back on his heels in shock.

God, how could I have been so stupid? How could I have offered to babysit for Bruce and Verity? he thought desperately.

Bruce was alright, he never noticed anything.

But stick-thin, eagle-eyed Verity was another matter altogether, Max realised with a sinking heart.

One look at my stomach and she'll be onto me like a shot.

Oh help, I need to sign up for Creative Bluffing classes, he thought helplessly. I'll have to tell Verity I've joined Overeaters Anonymous.

* * *

**Dolphin-san: **I know, I know, short chapter. But I have a slight headache and it's all I could come up with right now. Though I am pleased that I managed to write a whole chapter in one day. Anyway I hope you enjoyed reading and also hope that you will review. It's what drives me to create another chapter. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Dolphin-san: **Konichiwa mina! Since I gave you all an abysmally short chapter last time, I thought I'd write a bit more for this one... uh at least I think I wrote more than usual, it sure as hell took longer! But anyway, hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

'This is the right building,' said Ray, pushing his way through the revolving door. 'I can feel it in my nose.'

'Sometimes I worry about you.' Bev ran a hand over her hair, checking her sleek chignon was still in place after its encounter with the howling gale outside. 'God, what a night. You'd better not have dragged me here under false pretences,' she warned. 'If there aren't any decent men here, I'm going straight home.'

Ray crossed his fingers as they followed the trail of Elizabeth Turnbull's perfume up three flights of stairs. His extravagant promise to Bev that there would be sackfuls – if not wagonloads – of gorgeous spare men at this evening's party was gnawing slightly at his conscience.

But if he hadn't said it, Bev wouldn't have come.

And since Florence had insisted he take the spare ticket-for-two, Ray had been desperate. The prospect of bowling up at a cocktail party on your own where the only people you knew were Bruce and Verity Kent – aargh – and Elizabeth Turnbull – double aargh – was too terrible for words.

He'd had to bring someone along for moral support. And basically, with her social life being in such a dismal state, Bev needed all the help she could get.

Poor Bev, thought Ray, it must be awful to be so helplessly at the mercy of your hormones.

It wasn't as if Bev wasn't pretty, because she was. And she took immaculate care of herself.

It wasn't as if she was old. Well, maybe oldish, but not ancient. Only thirty.

It wasn't even as if she had a horrible personality, or knock-you-dead halitosis. Or acres of cellulite.

No, the only problem with Bev was something so easily remedied it could make you cry.

Sadly, it was the very flaw that sent horrified men scurrying backwards out of rooms the moment she clapped eyes on them.

The trouble with Bev was that she was Desperate.

Her biological clock was clanging like the 'Oh-dear-we're-in-trouble' bell on the _Titanic_. It had been for the last three years.

And she didn't just want a baby, she wanted a husband too, preferably one as keen on the idea of settling down to a lifetime of domestic bliss as she was.

Although, failing that, pretty much anyone would do.

Just so long as Bev could GET MARRIED and HAVE A BABY.

It was something of a standing joke at the salon.

'Oh well, there must be one around somewhere,' Ray had consoled her only yesterday when Bev had been wailing over the failure of the latest fling in her life to ring her. 'In a Zoo, maybe. With a little sign fixed to the front of his cage saying: "Commitment Man. Possibly the only surviving member of this species. Likes to eat home-made steak and kidney pies and wear hand-knitted tank-tops. Spends his weekends carrying out helpful little DIY jobs around the cage. Seeks ideal mate, can't wait to start a family."'

'I can't think why I'm your friend,' Bev had replied loftily. 'I hate you.'

'I know, but you'll come to the party with me tomorrow night, won't you?' Ray had wheedled. 'I promise there'll be oodles of men.'

It was no good explaining to Bev she scared men witless. She already knew that. She couldn't help it, that was her trouble. The light of matrimony was in her eyes and she couldn't switch it off.

And if one more well-meaning person tried to tell her that the reason she wasn't getting anywhere was because she was trying too hard – that if she stopped looking for a man she'd find one before you could say three tiered cake . . . well, Ray didn't give much for their chances.

They were likely to get more than their heads bitten off.

'Ray, how lovely to see you,' gushed Elizabeth Turnbull, leaning forward and going mwah, mwah several inches away from each cheek.

She was wearing Poison. The air around her was as thick as pea soup. Ray, his lips clamped together, could still taste it seeping down the back of his throat.

Frantically, over Elizabeth's plump shoulder, he scanned the room for men, any men, who might do for Bev. Honestly, it was like scavenging for scraps to feed a ravenous baby starling. Wayne Peterson, the footballer, was over by the window. Looking quite sober, for him. But since Bev wasn't a Malibu-swilling bosom-flashing page-three girl, he probably wouldn't be interested.

Oh dear, though Ray, still searching. Every other man he'd clapped eyes on so far was either diabolically ugly, older than the Tower of London, or clearly married.

Behind him, like telepathic acupuncture, he could feel Bev plunging imaginary needles into his back.

'No sign of Florence's son and his wife yet,' Elizabeth announced, assuming that was who Ray was so eager to locate. 'What's her name again? Valerie?'

'Verity.' A waiter approached, bearing a tray. Hurriedly relieving him of a couple of glasses, Ray said, 'I'm sure they'll be here soon. Don't worry about us, we'll just mingle.'

'Do, do! Caroline Newman's over there, by the way.' Elizabeth gestured grandly over to the fireplace. 'The travel presenter, you must recognise her. Charming lady, so easy to talk to, she and I have been getting on like a house on fire.' She preened visibly, like a cockatoo.

'I can't see Daisy Schofield,' said Ray. 'Wasn't she supposed to be here as well?'

Next to him, Bev knocked back her drink in three seconds flat.

Their hostess pursed her bright orange lips.

'I'm afraid we've been badly let down by _Ms_ Schofield. Some of these so-called celebrities, they just don't take their duties seriously.'

'So what happened?' said Ray. 'She just didn't turn up?'

'Pretty much.' Elizabeth's mouth narrowed further still, as if some internal vacuum cleaner was trying to suck her lips down her throat. 'The party began at eight. No word from Daisy Schofield. I mean, you almost expect it from alcoholic footballers . . .' she gestured carelessly in the direction of poor Wayne Peterson, 'but if even _he_ could manage to get here on time, I don't see why I should be made to look a fool by a third-rate _Australian_ model-cum-actress.'

'Maybe she's on her way,' Ray suggested. As someone not famous for getting to places on time himself, he felt obliged to leap to the girl's defence. 'She could have been held up in traffic.'

Ray's nasal passages were by this time becoming accustomed to the scent cloud. Either that, he decided, or they'd gone into self-preservation mode and given themselves a general anaesthetic.

'Hmmph,' Elizabeth snorted, 'that's what I was hoping, until the phone call ten minutes ago. Man's voice, wouldn't give his name, ringing to tell me Daisy was unwell. Said she was in bed with a viral illness and she wouldn't be able to make it tonight.'

'But you don't believe him?' said Ray.

'He wasn't exactly going out of his way to sound believable. He treated the whole thing as a joke: "She's in bed with a virile – oops, sorry, viral illness." And she was there, I could _here_ her, giggling away in the background like a silly teenager playing truant from school.'

'Daisy Schofield's nineteen.' Ray remembered reading this in one of the salon's glossy magazines. Feeling incredibly ancient – at twenty-three – he said, 'She _is_ a silly teenager.'

'People have come here tonight expecting to meet her,' Elizabeth replied frostily, 'and she's let us down. That girl needs to get a grip.'

Frankly, if Daisy was in bed with a virile male, Ray thought, getting a grip was probably what she _was_ doing right now.

* * *

By nine o'clock Hiro Granger was beginning to wish he hadn't dragged Adrian along to this party. When Ade got it into his head to be argumentative there was no stopping him. God, it wasn't as if either of them was even interested in meeting some bleached-blonde clapped-out travel show presenter.

'It's a breach of promise though, isn't it?' Adrian was enjoying the organiser's discomfort. 'We paid good money for these tickets' – big lie – 'and you haven't delivered. No Carol Newman-'

'Caroline,' Hiro murmured.

'She _was_ here,' the organiser insisted. 'She had to leave early.'

'And no Daisy Schofield. I mean, how fair is that?' Adrian tilted his head accusingly. 'We came along to meet celebrities and instead here you are, palming us off with a roomful of . . . nobodies.'

Stung, the woman said, 'We've got Wayne Peterson.'

'Oh big deal,' Adrian drawled. 'He's _sober_.'

This was true. Having been given the mother of all talking-tos by – well, his own mother, Wayne Peterson was here tonight on his best behaviour. Miserably clutching his seventh glass of Perrier – and trying hard not to burp – he was currently doing his best to appear interested in some old bore's blow-by-blow account of the 1966 World Cup.

Sadly, Wayne was only fun when he had fourteen pints of Newcastle Brown inside him. Without the aid of alcohol, he was a personality-free zone.

Even Elizabeth had been sorely tempted to spike his water with vodka.

'Look, I'm sorry you're disappointed.' She struggled to appease her two difficult guests. 'Let me get you another drink –'

'Never mind another drink,' said Adrian. 'How about a refund?'

'He doesn't mean that,' Hiro put in hurriedly. God, Adrian could be a pain sometimes. 'Of course we don't want a refund. And yes, another drink would be great.'

Typically, there wasn't a circulating waiter in sight. In her rush to reach the sanctuary of the kitchen, Elizabeth knocked into Ray, jolting his arm. A sesame prawn canapé flew out of Ray's hand and landed with a plop in a bowl of floating candles.

'Oh God, oh God.' Elizabeth pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and mopped her perspiring forehead.

'Are you alright?' Ray peered at her. 'You look a bit, um . . .'

Flappy, was the word that sprang to mind.

'. . . Hot and bothered.'

'Troublemakers.' Elizabeth inclined her head stiffly in the direction of the door. 'Those two, just arrived. Kicking up a fuss because Daisy Schofield isn't here.' Shuddering because her whole reputation was at stake, she wailed, 'Why can't people simply relax and enjoy themselves? I'm not Tommy Cooper, I can't click my fingers and produce a hatful of celebrities out of thin air.'

'Neither could Tommy Cooper,' said Ray. 'He'd have clicked his fingers and produced a hatful of sausages.'

'It's not my fault.' Elizabeth was by this time close to tears. 'One of them threatened to sue me for breach of promise.'

'Which one?' Ray demanded, indignant on her behalf.

'Blue shirt. Oh Lord, look at the state of me. And I'm supposed to be getting them another d-drink.'

Dyed-in-the-wool battleaxes weren't supposed to cry.

Swivelling around to glare at the offending pair, Ray discovered they were gazing at him.

The one in the blue shirt smirked and murmured something to his friend.

Prat, thought Ray.

'Come on, put your shoulders back,' he instructed Bev, 'and stick your chest out.'

'Are we going to talk to Wayne Peterson?' Bev looked worried. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to marry an alcoholic shaven-headed footballer. The again – the thought flashed unstoppably through her one-track mind – maybe she could be the one to tame him. They could live together in a mock-Tudor mansion in Middlesbrough, buy each other matching diamond-encrusted identity bracelets and have lots of boisterous, shaven-headed mini-footballers –

'Wayne Peterson? No way.' Briskly interrupting this fantasy, Ray seized the two glasses Elizabeth had returned with from the kitchen. 'Right, just pay attention,' he told Bev, 'and follow me.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Well, I hope you enjoyed it. And would you believe who turned up again? Hiro! The bloody twit. Unfortunately, plans for the future of this fic involve him, so I can't just write him out. Boo. But anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, then review! I know you're out there people. Your reviews are what keep me sane in this dull life I lead.

Ja Ne .


	10. Chapter 10

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there every one. I know I haven't updated in like forever, but I couldn't find my notes for this chapter in the tip I call my room. I'm so sorry. But the good news is that I found them and was at least able to finish writing this chapter, even if it is a little overdue. Also, good news for me, it's my birthday in FOUR DAYS!!!! Yays.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Having eased herself into bed and arranged the duvet to her satisfaction, Florence shook out last night's _Evening Standard_ and began to read.

Politics, politics, boring, boring. Impatiently she skipped over the first couple of pages.

BUNGEE-JUMPING GREAT-GRANNY, trumpeted the headline on page four, above a photograph of a wizened old woman in a crash helmet. Game-for-anything Alma Trotter, Florence read, jumped for joy when she found out what her family had planned as a surprise for her eighty-seventh birthday.

Ha, thought Florence, with a family like that, who needs enemies? Bumping her off, that was that they'd been planning. Except it hadn't worked, had it? No wonder the old bird was looking so smug.

But it was ten minutes later that an article on page twenty-three really made Florence sit up and take notice.

THAI BRIDE ODDS-ON FAVOURITE FOR COLONEL TOM.

'You old devil,' Florence exclaimed, peeing at the photograph below of a grinning man in his seventies sitting with one arm around the slender waist of a pretty Oriental girl. 'Tom Barrett, what are you up to now?'

Florence and Danny had first met Tom Barrett and his wife Louisa back in the early seventies, and following Danny's death Florence had remained friendly with them. The last time she had seen Tom was at Louisa's funeral three years ago, following which he had disappeared to Spain in order to spend some time with his daughter and her family and come to terms with the loss of his adored wife.

Hmm, thought Florence, studying the photograph once more and noting with approval the twinkle in her old friend's eye, it looked like he'd done that, all right. And he'd brought his young wife-to-be back to Hampstead, had he? She wondered idly if he was still living in the same house, in which case . . .

On an impulse, Florence riffled through her bedside drawer until she found her old flip-up phone directory. Within seconds she was dialling Ton's number.

'I don't believe it,' Tom exclaimed, 'a call from the Dancing Queen herself! I swear, the phone hasn't stopped ringing today. Do you have any idea how many long-lost friends have come crawling out of woodwork since that piece appeared in the paper? Not that you'd ever crawl, my darling,' he went on with habitual gallantry. 'You'd shimmy.'

Florence laughed.

'My shinnying years are over. These days, I'm afraid, I definitely crawl.'

'Arthritis still playing up?' Tom sounded sympathetic.

'Oh, you know, the odd twinge.'

'And am I delighted to hear from you?' Florence heard the note of caution in his voice. 'Or have you called to tell me I'm off my rocker?'

'Is that what everyone else has been doing?'

'Come on. What d'you think?'

Florence glanced at the article across her lap.

'You saw her in a mail-order catalogue and met her how long ago?'

'Three months.'

'She's from Thailand,' said Florence. 'Are you sure she's not a boy?'

Much gravelly laughter at the other end of the phone.

Finally Tom managed to say, 'Oh yes.'

'That's a start. Do you love her?'

'I do,' Tom replied.

'Does she love you?'

'I think so.'

'Are you ridiculously happy?'

'So happy it would make you sick.'

'Oh well,' said Florence, 'in that case I think you're absolutely barking mad and I couldn't be happier for you. Go for it, prove those miserable doubters wrong, have a ball. And don't forget to invite me to the wedding.'

'You can be a bridesmaid if you want.' Tom's relief was audible. 'Dear Florence. So you don't think I'm making the biggest mistake of my life?'

'If you're having fun, how can it be a mistake? The last thing I ordered from a mail-order catalogue was a non-stick saucepan,' Florence told him, 'and after a week the bloody handle dropped off.'

'Christ, I hope mine doesn't.'

She had to ask.

'How does Jennifer feel about all this?'

Jennifer was Tom's daughter. And Tom was a wealthy man. It was bound to concern her.

'Oh, Jennifer's a diamond. She's fine about it, behind me all the way. Says if I'm happy, she's happy. Look,' Tom spoke with enthusiasm, 'we must get together again, it's been too long. Come to dinner next week, Flo. I want you to meet Maria.'

Hanging up the phone some minutes later, Florence sank back against the pillows and flipped through a few more pages of the paper. For want of anything better to do , she read her horoscope:

_Oh dear, you've got yourself into a rut, haven't you? __Time to do something about it.__ A bored person is a boring person . . ._

'Blah blah blah,' said Florence, chucking the paper on to the floor. Honestly, talk about cheering you up. It was a good job she didn't believe in horoscopes.

Except there was no getting away from the fact that – whether she believed in them or not – this one was depressingly true.

Lucky Tom, she thought. Okay, so what he was doing might not work out, but at least he was giving it a go.

And even luckier Tom, Florence idly mused, to have a daughter who backed him all the way. Jennifer, after all, was the one who stood to loose out financially if the marriage went horribly wrong.

'Can't imagine you being so generous,' she said aloud, addressing the framed photograph of Bruce on her bedside table. 'You wouldn't be so keen, would you, my sweet, if you thought there was a chance of my money not going your way?'

* * *

'. . . and in June we start shooting the new Madhur Jaffrey film in Norfolk, starring Helena Bonham-Carter and Steven Fry. My role isn't huge,' Ray said modestly, 'but it'll be great for the CV. Madhur and Jaffrey are so well thought of, that's the thing. If you've worked with them, people sit up and take notice. It proves that you aren't just a pretty face,' he explained, 'and that you really can act.'

And by jingo I _can_, Ray thought happily. Was this a performance of a lifetime or what? Adrian – yeurgh, dumb name – was lapping it up.

'Have you worked with Sylvester Stallone?' he asked eagerly.

'No.' Ray looked regretful; it wouldn't do to show off too much. 'I auditioned once, but didn't get the part.'

'So what was Pierce Brosnan like to work with?'

'Oh, he was _great_. You must go and see the film when it comes out. The bit where he rescues me from the river just as the crocodiles are about to drag me down was the scariest thing I've ever had to do –'

Adrian's eyes were practically out on stalks.

'Were they real crocodiles?'

Um . . .

'Well, no, not _real_ crocodiles.'

He frowned.

'So why was it scary?'

'Because Pierce is such a fantastic actor he made me _think_ they were real.' Ray shook his head in admiration. 'Plus, it was real water. And I can't swim.'

'Ahem,' said Hiro, when Bev had disappeared to the loo and Adrian had gone in search of more drinks. 'It's Merchant Ivory.'

Ray turned to look at him. Until now he had been concentrating solely on Adrian, the one in the blue shirt. He was his project and Hiro was Bev's.

'Merchant Ivory, not Madhur Jaffery. Their names are Ismail Merchant,' he explained patiently, 'and James Ivory.'

'Oh my God,' said Ray, 'no wonder they kept giving me funny looks on set. How embarrassing.' He clapped a hand to his forehead. 'I've always been hopeless with names.'

'And dates.' Leaning closer, Hiro whispered in his ear, 'Unless he's Superman, I don't know how Pierce Brosnan has managed to spend the last six weeks in California _and_ find time to make a film at Pinewood Studio's with you.'

Ray went pink.

'Concorde.'

'Bullshit.'

Indignantly, Ray said, 'What makes you think he's been in California?'

'I know for a fact that he has.'

'How?'

'He's my uncle.'

'Oh _hell_. Really?'

'No.' Hiro looked amused. 'That was bullshit too.'

Rumbled, thought Ray. Damn.

'Did Bev . . . ?'

'Oh no, she did very well considering. I've heard all about her record contract and the time she and Jarvis Cocker got lost on the way to the _Top of the Pops_ studios, not to mention the time she went to a party and her trousers split and she ended up having to wear one of Boy George's dresses.'

Ray's eyes darted around the room. Maybe it was time to leg it, just get out before he had a chance to make an embarrassing scene. But there was no sign of Bev either.

'Adrian's going to be back any second,' Ray muttered.

'In that case,' Hiro took Ray's clammy fingers in his cool ones, 'we'd better hide.'

He led Ray out on to the balcony, shielded from the room by a heavy curtain. Below them, the wet streets glittered in the reflected lamplight. Much to Ray's relief, it had stopped raining and the wind had dropped.

'What about Bev?' he protested. 'She'll wonder where we are.'

'I've spent the last thirty minutes talking to Bev. I've done my duty,' said Hiro. 'Now I want to swap.'

Ray watched a man on the pavement across the street, taking a furtive pee up against a pillar-box. In Balgravia, imagine.

'Is that fair?'

'I think it's fair.' Hiro turned Ray sideways to look at him. 'I didn't just get the _Top of the Pops_ and Boy George stories; I've had the "aren't-babies-wonderful" spiel as well.'

Honestly, thought Ray, how many times have I told her not to _do_ that?

'And I don't happen to think they are,' he went on, his smile crooked. 'Anyway, I'd much rather talk to you.'

He had light blue hair – natural, Ray noted automatically – and laughing grey eyes and a really nice mouth. Feeling his stomach go a bit squirmy, Ray realised how attractive he actually was.

'I'm not really an actor,' he said.

'I gathered that.'

'I just said I was because –'

'It's okay, I know why you did it.'

'Elizabeth Turnbull's my next-door neighbour. You made her cry.'

'Now I feel terrible. I'm sorry, I know we didn't behave very well. But it was more Adrian than me.'

'He's going to be wondering what happened to you.'

'Adrian can talk babies with Bev. Serve him right for upsetting your neighbour. So who are you really?'

'Nobody.' Ray was unrepentant. 'A trainee hairdresser.'

'That explains the hair.' Reaching up, Hiro touched the feathery dark-blue tendrils at the nape of Ray's neck. 'I like it.'

Ray shivered. He liked it too. Things were beginning to hot up here.

'How about you, what do you do?' It wasn't exactly sparkling repartee, but time was short and he wanted to know.

'Something extremely boring. Insurance. You have my permission to yawn.'

'Are you single?'

'Oh yes.' Hiro smiled. 'Are you?'

That smile. Those teeth. Plus, a thrilling fit-looking body. Barely able to stop his knees from knocking with excitement, Ray nodded.

'In that case,' he took a pen out of his inside pocket, swiftly uncapping it, 'why don't you give me your phone number?'

God, I love a fast worker, thought Ray.

He took the pen and waited.

'Paper?'

Hiro shook his head.

'Haven't got any on me. Here, write on my hand. No, better make that my arm.' He began to fumble with a cuff link. 'We don't want to upset Adrian.'

Ray, experiencing a brief pang of guilt, said, 'Or Bev.'

The next moment they both jumped at the sound of an aggrieved voice on the other side of the curtain.

'They can't have gone, they must be around here somewhere.'

Ray froze. He heard Bev say, plaintively, 'But I've already looked in the bathroom.'

'Okay, ask that chap if he's seen your friend. Tell him you're looking for the guy with the spiky blue hair.'

In the darkness, Hiro was still struggling to unfasten his cuff link.

Too slow, too _slow_, Ray thought frantically.

Grabbing the front of Hiro's shirt, Ray wrenched it open and began scrawling his phone number across his chest.

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** God Hiro is such an ass isn't he? Saying he's ingle when he's still married to Max. Honestly, I just want to write that he gets hit by a bus . . . but I have worse plans in store for him (insert evil laughter). Any ways, I shouldn't take too long with writing the next chapter, so until next time folks. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Dolphin-san: **Hello again all you crazy people! Well I said that it wouldn't be long until the next chapter was out and here it is! I've been writing for _ages _but it's just because I'm super psyched that it's my birthday tomorrow. Hurray I'll be old enough to drive!

But any way, on with the chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter**** 11**

Thank goodness it wasn't a hairy chest.

'Ouch,' whispered Hiro, wincing as the sharp nib of the fountain pen dug into his skin.

'Sorry.' There, done. Hurriedly refastening the buttons, Ray murmured, 'Next time, carry a magic a marker.'

'I can take the pain.' Hiro grinned at him. 'You're worth it.'

The curtain was abruptly whisked aside. Ray sagged against the balcony railings.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, _there_ you are.'

Bev sounded like a teacher berating a lost child on a school trip.

Adrian, peering suspiciously over her shoulder, said, 'What are you two doing out here?'

'Felt faint.' Sagging a little further, Ray waved an apologetic arm in the direction of the party. 'Sorry, it was too hot in that room. I had to get some air. Oooh,' he clutched his stomach, 'I still feel a bit sick.'

'He needs to get home,' Hiro told them. 'He's really not well.'

'If you throw up, you'll feel better in no time,' Adrian urged.'

Ray rolled his eyes.

'I don't think I will.'

'At least give it a try.' Adrian looked dismayed. 'Oh, come on, you can't go home now, it's only ten o'clock! I was going to take you to Stringfellows.'

'Good grief,' said Bev, astonished. 'Stringfellows! Why?'

'He's famous, isn't he?' Adrian gave Bev a 'God-you're-stupid' look. 'And he knows Peter Stringfellow.'

'Not in the biblical sense,' Ray put in hurriedly.

'Okay, but we won't have to pay to get in, will we?'

'No,' Bev muttered, 'you just have to pay to get out.'

Adrian thought it was a brilliant idea. He'd never been to Stringfellows. Furthermore, it was his lifetime ambition to be snapped by the paparazzi.

Generously he told Bev, You and Hiro can come too. I'm sure Peter won't mind.'

Oh dear, time to leave.'

'I really do feel ill,' gasped Ray.

* * *

'You pulled then,' said Bev in the cab on the way home.

'Mm. First prize in the Pillock of the Year contest.'

Having smeared baby lotion all over his face, Ray was now wiping it off with a tissue. It was the only way; he never felt like removing his make-up once he got home.

'Adrian really fancied you.'

'Fancied the fact that I was an actor, you mean.'

'He'll definitely phone you.'

'No he won't,' said Ray. 'I made that number up.'

Bev sighed.

'At least he asked for it.'

Oh help, more guilt.

And I shouldn't even feel guilty, Ray thought frustratedly. All Hiro had done was talk to Bev for half an hour. It wasn't as if he was her boyfriend, for heaven's sake.

'Hiro didn't ask for yours?' To cover his shame, he slapped on another handful of baby lotion and began vigorously scrubbing away with the already shredded tissue.

'No.' Bev fiddled for a moment with one of her bracelets. 'Well, I gave it to him.'

'Oh.'

'Just to be on the safe side.' Bev sounded defensive. He might have meant to ask, but forgotten. Or he could have been too shy.'

'Right.'

'The thing is, I really liked him.' Miserably, Bev began picking at a snag in one of her stockings. Within seconds the snag had become a hole. 'I know Adrian was a prize pillock, but Hiro was really nice.'

'Well, he might phone. You never know,' Ray said feebly. The harder he tried not to think about scribbling his own number across Hiro's naked chest, the more ashamed of himself he felt.

'He won't, he won't.' Bev shook her head, waving her hand in a 'give-me-a-tissue' kind of way. 'Who am I trying to kid? I've blown it, I'm never going to hear from him again.'

Over his shoulder, the taxi driver said, 'Come on, love, cheer up. Chances are he's not worth it anyway. He's probably married with five kids.'

Oh golly, thought Ray, I hope not.

'He isn't married.' Bev blew her nose with an unromantic trumpeting noise like a mating elephant. 'I checked.'

'You mean you frisked him for peck-marks?' The taxi driver chuckled at his own wit.

But Bev was no longer listening. Instead, she was gazing with revulsion at the tissue in her hands.

'When I asked you to pass me a tissue,' she said to Ray disgustedly, 'I meant a dry one.'

Gluey white baby lotion was sliding down both cheeks and dripping off her chin. The taxi driver, pulling up at the traffic lights, swivelled round and said, 'Blimey, I saw a Hammer Horror film once just like that.'

'Sorry,' said Ray, who had squirted a Mr Whippy-sized dollop out of the bottle, 'I thought you wanted to take your make-up off too.'

'Swampwpman,' cackled the driver, 'that's what you look like.'

Taxi driver without a tip, that's what _you_ look like,' Bev muttered. Honestly, was there _any_ men left on the planet who weren't complete pigs?

* * *

Ray knew as soon as the phone rang in his flat two days later that it was Hiro. He felt his heart do a quick tarantella at the sound of his voice on the other end of the line.

Which, at seven thirty in the morning, was no mean feat.

'The reason I didn't ring you yesterday,' Hiro announced, 'was because I was playing it cool.'

'Me too,' Ray said joyfully. 'So it's just as well you didn't, because I wouldn't have answered the phone.'

Hiro was smiling, he could tell.

'That's got that out of the way, then. We've done the being-cool bit. Now we're allowed to move on to stage two.' Hiro paused. 'So, how are you?'

'Great. How's your chest?'

'Still covered in your phone number.' He sounded rueful. 'That was indelible ink, you know. I had four showers yesterday.'

'What you need is a Brillo pad,' said Ray. 'That'll do the trick. Or you could use one of those sanding disks,' he added brightly. 'You just fit them on the end of your Black and Decker and off you go . . .'

Whoops, unintentional double-entendre. Ray held his breath, praying Hiro wouldn't let him down. If he said anything remotely building-sitey, he'd go off him in a flash.

Just because he'd ripped open Hiro's shirt and scribbled across his bare chest didn't mean he was allowed to be crude.

Ray almost jumped up and down and cheered when Hiro passed the unspoken test.

'I may have to do that.' He sounded amused. 'Adrian's already wondering why I've taken to wearing a dressing gown around the house.'

'Tell him you're a born-again virgin and that nudity is a sin,' said Ray. 'Has he tried ringing me yet?'

'Yesterday. He gat through to a Mrs Finkelstein.

'Was he okay about it?'

'Put it this way,' said Hiro, 'he was on the phone for twenty minutes, begging at first, then getting madder and madder. When she finally hung up on him he yelled, "Can you believe it? Ray's mother won't even let me speak to him, just because I'm not Jewish."'

Ray, who had plucked the number out of thin air, sent a mental apology to poor, shouted-at Mrs Finkelstein.

'Anyway,' Hiro went on, 'that's enough about Adrian. When can I see you?'

Double checking, Ray said, 'Have we definitely stopped playing it cool?'

'Definitely stopped.'

'Oh well, in that case,' Ray said happily, 'how about tonight?'

* * *

Crammed onto the tube forty minutes later, Ray was strap-hanging and swaying in unison with everyone else in the carriage when he saw a face he recognised.

He ducked his head and peered more closely at the copy of the _Daily Mail_ being held up by the woman against whom he was currently squashed hip-to-hip. The paper was open at the Dempster page and the girl he had spotted in the main photograph was Daisy Schofield.

The woman to whom the paper belonged was reading the other page. Annoyingly, she was obscuring with her fingers the bit Ray most wanted to see. But Daisy Schofield was certainly looking happy enough, with her thin arms draped around the shoulders of some man or other – oh, come on, move your fingers – and although the accompanying text was partially hidden, Ray was clearly able to make out the words 'in fine form', 'sizzling romance' and 'Wednesday night'.

So much for being laid up with a virus, thought Ray. Elizabeth Turnbull had been right.

'Lying bitch,' he muttered under his breath.

When the woman flinched and glanced sideways in alarm, Ray realised the words hadn't been as far under his breath as he'd thought. Oh well, never mind, maybe f he apologised and explained, the woman would move her fingers and let him read the rest of the article.

But the owner of the news paper was too fast for Ray. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, the train screeched to a halt at South Ken. The doors scissored open and the woman, still clutching her paper, jumped off.

Now I'll have to buy one myself, Ray thought indignantly, peering after her. Honestly, some people were so _selfish_.

* * *

**Dolphin-san: **Well I hope you enjoyed that. I know it was kind of short but my hand is starting to cramp up. Lolz. Anyway, until next time everyone. Ja Ne. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Dolphin-san:** Again I'm sorry for taking so long to update, but I was away for new years, and then school started back practically right after that so I haven't managed to get on the laptop as often as I would have liked. I sort of rushed this chapter because I wanted it finished for yesterday, but my mum wanted on so I had to stop, like, half way through . . .

**Ray: **Will you just shut up and get on with it already?

**Kai:** Yeah, some of us actually want to see what's going on.

**Dolphin-san: **Gomen, mina. ; Anyway on with the story.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

'Yap yap,' said Ray when Takao arrived at the salon an hour later.

'I knew it.' Takao raised his eyebrow at Bev. 'He's finally gone barking.'

'God, you're slow,' Ray protested. 'It's Friday, isn't it? Tabitha day. You said I could be your guard dog.'

Tabitha Lester, known in the salon as Try-it-on Tabitha, had been a hugely successful actress back in the seventies. Now past er sell-by date but steadfastly refusing to admit it, she spent her days having face lifts and fat hovered out of her thighs, and her nights tottering along to film premieres on the arms of embarrassingly young men.

She also had a massive crush on Takao, who had once gone to her house alone and had barely escaped with his leather trousers intact. Since then, his regular trips to Tabitha's home in St John's Wood were strictly chaperoned, much to her disgust and his relief.

Ray loved going too. If Tabitha Lester was willing to pay silly money for a house call, he didn't mind at all. The house was vast and decorated in wonderfully over-the-top Hollywood style. They were always piled high with Hollywood-type food, and Tabitha – in an attempt to weaken Takao's defences – was forever opening bottles of pink champagne.

'I don't know why you don't sleep with her,' said Ray, feeling quite Hollywoody himself in the passenger seat of Takao's gleaming black Lotus. 'Just make a hash of it, be completely useless. Then she won't pester you any more.'

'Is that your bright idea for the day?'

'It's a brilliant suggestion!'

'Right.' Takao nodded. 'We're talking about the queen of the tabloids here. That'll do my reputation a world of good, won't it? I can just see the headline: "My quickie with Crimper Takao – a Wizard with Scissors, Crap in the Sack."'

'Yes, but no one would believe it,' Ray protested. Takao's partners tended to be seriously gorgeous models and he was generally regarded as one of London's most eligible bachelors.

When you were a gorgeous hairdresser – and a very successful one at that – well, you could do no wrong. You were officially a great catch.

'I'd rather not take that chance,' Takao remarked, 'if it's all the same to you.'

* * *

'Takao, you're looking wonderful as usual,' Tabitha exclaimed, greeting him on the doorstep. Drawing him inside, she confided, 'Do you know, I had the most amazing dream about you last night. Quite, quite naughty.' As she spoke, she winked at Ray and jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen. 'Darling, it's Cook's day off. There's a Charentais melon in the fridge, and a mountain of Parma ham. Why don't you help yourself while Takao and I head on upstairs?'

'Later,' Takao said firmly, meaning in half an hour when Tabitha's hair was shrouded in foil and she couldn't pounce on him. 'I need Ray to help me get started.'

'Yap yap,' Ray murmured as the three of them trailed up the staircase, Tabitha clutching an unopened bottle of champagne in one hand and the hem of her sea-green negligee in the other.

For someone with five walk-in wardrobes stuffed with clothes, Tabitha appeared to spend an awful lot of her time wafting about in see-through nighties.

The master bedroom had been redecorated since Ray's last visit, the ankle-deep turquoise shag pile having been replaced by ankle-deep ivory shag pile. The wallpaper, ivory and gold, matched the damask hangings artfully draped around the four-poster bed.

'This is nice.' Glancing inadvertently upwards, Ray saw that the mirror was still there on the ceiling.

'I know.' Tabitha smiled meaningfully across at Takao. 'I've got great taste. Oh, sorry, darling,' she went on as Ray pulled out a chair and something metallic half buried in the carpet went clunk. 'Just pop them in that drawer, will you? Good boy.'

As he dropped the slim but efficient-looking gold handcuffs into the drawer, Ray didn't dare look at Takao. If he did, he knew he would burst out laughing. Biting his lip and gazing out of the window instead, he watched a bronzed figure in black shorts dive into the swimming pool below.

Although he was some distance away, Ray couldn't help thinking he looked familiar.

'Ray, put some towels down around the chair,' Takao instructed. 'We don't want bleach on the carpet.'

A second splash heralded the arrival of another figure, paler than the first, and wearing multicoloured trunks. By the look of things, Tabitha had found herself a couple of toyboys.

'Ray. Towels.'

'For heaven's sake, Takao, give the boy a break,' Tabitha chided good-naturedly. 'He's just admiring my young friends.'

'Sorry, Takao.' Ray tore himself away. He was sure he'd seen the one in black shorts somewhere before.

'Relax. Don't let him bully you.' Tabitha settled herself comfortably on the chair.

Takao, laying out the contents of his case, raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

'You're kidding. Ray bullies me.'

'Oh, I love a man who knows his place,' Tabitha said with a smirk. The kind of smirk that signified, _especially when he's handcuffed to a four-poster._

'Foil, please, Ray.' Takao was beginning to sound slightly desperate.

'Come on, let's open this first.' Patting his arm in a soothing manner, Tabitha handed him the bottle, managing to brush her wrist against his thigh en route. 'You do the honours. Popping the cork is a man's job.' She winked again, saucily, at Ray. 'Poor Takao, all on edge this morning. He looks as if he could do with a drink.'

Retouching Tabitha's bombshell-blonde highlights took three-quarters of an hour. By the time the last few greying roots had been painstakingly painted and wrapped in foil, the furious growls emanating from Ray's stomach had reached bear-like proportions.

'Go on, run downstairs and get some food inside you.' Waving her empty glass at Takao, Tabitha indicated that she was in need of a refill.

Ray glanced at Takao, who nodded. For the next twenty minutes he was safe; even Try-it-on Tabitha wouldn't risk dislodging the dozens of little foil packets and wrecking her hair.

Besides, if Ray didn't eat soon they were going to need earplugs.

The kitchen door, leading onto the sun terrace, was open. As Ray crouched in front of the fridge, drooling at the sight of Parma ham, marinated mushrooms and punnets of strawberries, he could hear the sounds of shouts and splashing outside in the pool.

He was carrying a ciabatta loaf and the Charentais melon over to the table when a wolf-whistle behind him made him jump. Twisting around, he lost his grip on the melon, which slid out of his hands and went bowling across the floor.

'Hey, great idea!' It was the paler of the two men Ray had seen from the window earlier. Scooping it up, he grinned at Ray. 'Water polo!'

'You can't take that melon,' Ray protested. 'Tabitha just asked me to cut it up –'

'I am a representative of the Melon Liberation Front,' the intruder declaimed, spinning it basketball-style on the tip of his index finger. 'This melon' – dripping water all over the tiled floor, he began to back away – 'shall Be Free!'

He was out of the door in a flash. Ray, who had spent the last hour dreaming of melon, skidded across the wet floor after him.

Racing on to the terrace, he was just in time to see the melon go flying through the air. It landed with a splash in the pool and was promptly leapt on by the other man. Shaking his purple hair out of his eyes, he held the melon triumphantly aloft.

'Don't let her have it,' yelled his friend. 'She's a murderer.'

'Look,' Ray tried to sound reasonable, 'you can't play water polo with a melon.'

'We aren't playing water polo,' said the purple haired one, 'we're playing watermelon.'

Grinning broadly, he lobbed it over Ray's head, where it was neatly caught by his friend. Ray, beginning to feel stupid, moved towards him.

The melon flew over his head once more.

'Look, you can play too if you like,' the purple haired one offered. 'You can be on my team.'

He was by far the better-looking of Tabitha's two toyboys. What was more, he was still tantalisingly familiar. If his hair wasn't plastered to his head and he had clothes on, Ray thought, he was sure he'd recognise him.

'Do I know you?'

'Of course you do. I'm the other half of your watermelon team. Come on,' he said persuasively, 'jump in. The water's fantastic.'

'Look, I'd love to play watermelon with you' – Ray was still trying to humour him – 'but I just can't.'

Big mistake.

'No such thing as can't!' The one in the multicoloured trunks, having loomed up behind him, lobbed the melon back into the water. Grabbing Ray around the waist, he lifted him into his arms and raced to the edge of the pool.

Right up to the last second, Ray was convinced he'd stop.

He didn't.

With a monumental splash, they landed together in the deep end. Ray shuddered as the icy water caused every cell in his body to contract with shock.

By the time he had swam back to the surface, the better-looking toyboy was treading water next to him.

'Well, that's a relief. For a minute there I thought you couldn't swim.' His grey eyes were alight with laughter, his tone conversational. 'Thought I was going to have to rescue you.'

He was still clutching the melon. Ray made a grab for it.

'Oh dear, I can see I need to explain the rules of watermelon to you.' Effortlessly, he whisked it out of Ray's reach. 'You see, we're on the same side. You're meant to tackle the opposition, not me.'

Ray's teeth began to chatter. Keeping afloat fully clothed was no picnic either.

'This p-pool isn't heated. You l-lied to me.'

'I didn't.' He grinned, his teeth Persil-white against his tanned face. 'I told you the water was fantastic, I didn't say anything about it being warm.'

'I am going to get in so much trouble for this.' Ray glanced fearfully up at Tabitha's bedroom window. No sign of Takao's outraged face, thank goodness.

'Oh, come on, you're in now.' Ray's team-mate held the melon towards him in an enticing fashion. 'Just one game.'

'I've got my shoes on.'

'Take them off.'

'I'm still wearing all my clothes!'

He didn't say anything, just grinned at Ray. His eyes were extraordinary, Ray realised now that he was close enough to tell, an intense grey-white with silver flecks.

'Hey, you two! Are we playing watermelon or not?'

The one in the multicoloured shorts had by this time clambered out of the pool. 'Over here!' he bellowed, pointing to his forehead.

'Don't!' Ray clapped both hands over his eyes as his team-mate took aim. 'You'll knock him unconscious.'

'Nothing knocks Tala unconscious.'

He was right. The melon came off worse. The force of the impact split it in half, and seeds and juice exploded in all directions like shrapnel.

'Ouch,' said Tala, scooping a lump of orange melon flesh off his shoulder and popping it in his mouth.

'You killed it,' Ray said sorrowfully. 'I'm reporting you to the MLF.'

'Too late,' murmured his playing partner as Takao appeared on the terrace. 'Looks like they're already here.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san: **Lols. Watermelon is a fun game to play you know. You should all try it some time. Trying to catch a melon when you can't move very fast is not only funny to try, but hilarious to watch! Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and the story so far. Please review if you do! Your reviews are what keep me happy! 


	13. Chapter 13

**Dolphin-san: **Konichiwa mina! Here's the next little chapter for you all to enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Ray sat huddled on one of the kitchen chairs with a towel around his shoulders and a spreading puddle of chlorinated water at his feet. His teeth chattered dramatically against the rim of his coffee cup. His hair, which had been subjected to a cruelly brisk towel-dry by Takao, stood out in spikes.

'I can't take you anywhere.'

'It wasn't my fault,' Ray protested. 'Blame melon-head. He was the one who threw me in.'

'But why does it always have to happen to you?' Mystified, Takao shook his head.

'I don't know. Stuff just does.' Even as a child, Ray gloomily remembered, his despairing mother had called him incident-prone.

'Those naughty boys,' said Tabitha, appearing in the doorway with an armful of dry clothes. 'I'm going to give them a good talking-to. Here you are darling, pop upstairs to my room and het yourself out of those wet things.'

In Tabitha's bedroom, Ray peeled off his sodden clothes, dried himself and changed into a white sweatshirt and jeans. Sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on a pair of blue angora socks, he felt something crackle behind him and pulled out a copy of the _Daily Mail_ from under the rumpled bedspread.

Tabitha had even left it open at the Dempster page, which was handy. One sock on and one sock off, Ray leaned over to find out exactly what Daisy Schofield had been up to on Wednesday night.

There was a knock on the door.

'Are you decent?'

'As I'll ever be.'

The bedroom door was swung open. His team-mate, now fully dressed and with his silver hair slicked back from his face, said, 'Is your boss furious with you?'

'No, but I'm not too thrilled with you.' Ray recognised him at once with his clothes on. He pointed an accusing finger at the photograph in the paper. 'What were you doing on Wednesday night with Daisy Schofield?'

The other grinned.

'Are you sure you want to know?'

No wonder he looked familiar. Brian Kutsenov (don't know if that's how you spell that XP I'm not that great with Russian, but he's British in this fic), Formula One racing river, had burst on to the motor-racing scene less than a year ago, but the publicity he attracted was unrelenting. With his extravagant good looks, undoubted talent and laid-back personality, he was being touted as the new James Hunt.

'I'm not interested in the gory details. I meant, _why_ was she with you?'

'Probably because she fancies me.' Brian Kutsenov winked. 'Oh dear, don't tell me you're jealous.'

'Daisy Schofield was supposed to be at a cocktail party. She cancelled, said she was ill. Or rather you did,' Ray pointedly remarked, realising that the mystery man who had spoken to Elizabeth Turnbull on the phone must have been him. He frowned. 'You lied. Wasn't that a bit of a mean thing to do?'

'You went to the party, I take it?'

'Yes.'

'Was it dull?'

Ray hesitated. He'd been okay, he'd met Hiro. But if he hadn't, it would have been crashingly dull.

'There you are then.' When Ray didn't immediately reply, Brian Kutsenov shrugged, unconcerned. 'That's why she didn't go.'

'But she was a celebrity guest.' Ray wanted to make him understand. 'You wouldn't like it if you organised a charity event and nobody else bothered to turn up.'

'Oh.' He had the grace – at last – to look ashamed. 'I didn't know it was for charity.'

Ray wasn't sure whether or not he believed him.

'Anyway, what are you doing here?' Changing the subject, Ray wriggled the angora sock onto his foot. 'When I saw the two of you in the pool, I thought you were Tabitha's latest toyboys.'

Brian laughed.

'Tala dragged me along, that's all. He's an old mate of mine and Tabitha's his godmother. Five minutes after meeting her,' he went on, 'I realised the middle of the swimming pool was the safest place to be. I'm telling you, that woman has seriously wandering hands.'

'Weren't you scared she might jump in after you?'

'She told us her hairdresser was on his way over, so she mustn't get her hair wet. That,' he told Ray with a crooked smile, 'was when I dived in.'

'If you can handle a Formula One racing car, I'd have thought you could cope with a middle-aged nymphomaniac.'

Brian considered this for a moment.

'The difference is, Tabitha has no brakes.'

Downstairs once more, with his soggy clothes bundled into a Fortnum and Mason carrier bag, Ray was formally introduced to Tala, Tabitha's godson. He dutifully apologised for giving him a ducking. Ray in turn admired the splendid bump on his forehead, inflicted by the melon. Then it was time to roll up the sleeves of his borrowed white sweatshirt and help Takao with the defoiling of Tabitha.

'Aunt Tab, we're off.' Tala poked his head round the bathroom door as Ray massaged conditioner into Tabitha's scalp.

'Have fun, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.' Tabitha's head was bent over the basin. 'And where's Brian? I haven't had my goodbye kiss yet.'

'His manager called. He's outside, on the phone.' Tala's wink indicated that Brian had legged it to the safety of his car. 'By the way,' he addressed Ray, 'we're off to a party at the Unicorn Club tonight. Brian wondered if you'd like to come along.'

Astonished, Ray stopped massaging. He felt his cheeks go pink with pleasure.

Brian Kutsenov was actually inviting him to a party?

Well, maybe not asking him himself, but getting his friend to invite him.

Golly, was that exciting or what?

He had been beaming idiotically at Tala for a couple of seconds before his brain kicked in, reminding him why he'd been in such a good mood this morning and why he was already looking forward to tonight.

Talk about rotten timing.

'I'd love to.' Ray's insides crumpled with regret. 'I mean, I would have loved to. But I can't, not this evening. I've already . . . er, got something on.'

'Okay.' Tala sounded unperturbed. It clearly didn't bother him either way.

But it bothers _me_, Ray thought frustratedly.

'What a shame, it would have been great.' Ray plastered a bright smile on his face. 'Maybe another night? I mean, I'm usually free. In fact, _any_ other evening and I'd definitely be able to make it.'

He clamped his runaway lips together. Oh dear, how desperate could a single guy get? Now he sounded like Bev.

Tala, nodding, checked his watch and backed out of the bathroom door.

'Okay, right, see you around.'

'You blew it,' Tabitha said flatly when he had gone. 'Darling, you must be mad. With people like Brian Kutsenov, you don't get a second chance.'

Ray poured an extra dollop of conditioner into his hand and gloomily resumed the scalp massage. Typical. Six whole months since his last boyfriend, and now this had to happen. Maybe it was God's way of punishing him for pinching Hiro from Bev.

'So what is it you're doing tonight?' Tabitha persisted with annoying cheerfulness. 'Flying over to LA for the premiere of the new Tarantion movie? A cosy dinner for two at he Ritz with Leonardo di Caprio?'

'I met this chap on Wednesday night,' Ray mumbled. 'It's our first date.' He couldn't bring himself to say they'd probably go for a couple of lukewarm beers and a limp pizza.

'Would I have heard of him?'

'No. He works in insurance.'

'Good grief.' Tabitha burst out laughing. 'And you turned down Brian Kutsenov for that!' Rather heartlessly, in Ray's view, she went on, 'I only hope he's worth it.'

Remembering suddenly how unreliable other men were and how often he had been let down in the past, Ray wondered if Hiro would even turn up tonight.

Feeling distinctly uneasy, he murmured, 'So do I.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** I apologise if it seems a bit short, but I wrote it during my free periods in school today and when I got home I couldn't think of anything to add to it, so I'm leaving it here for now. Please review and I assure you, this is still going to end up as a Kai/Ray fic, it's just going to take _forever_. Gomen. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Dolphin-san: **Oh I had the most horrible test today in college. Questions like what is health and how does the environment effect a child's development. I'm sure I failed. But anyway, I came home with this idea, so I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Max had known he was making a big mistake when he phoned his mother the night before. But some things – no matter how much you didn't want them to – had to be done.

'What do you mean, he's left you?' Judy Mizuhara had barked when he had finally managed to stammer out the words. 'Max, don't be ridiculous, is this your idea of a joke? Why on earth would Hiro want to leave you?'

Quailing in the face of his mother's wrath, Max had promptly chickened out of telling her about the baby. Instead he had mumbled something about not getting on and things not working out.

'My God, that boy has a nerve! You just wait until I get my hands on him, I'll make him realise –'

'Mum, please, there's nothing you can do,' Max had begged. 'He's gone. It's not the end of the world. Marriages break up all the time.'

'Not in our family they don't,' his mother had grimly replied. 'Never before in our family.'

'Well, one has now.'

'You give up to easily, my boy. You always have.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' Max had yelled, exasperated, 'what was I supposed to do, tie him up and lock him in the broom cupboard?'

'Now you're just being absurd. There are ways and means, Max. If you want to keep your husband there are _always_ ways and means.'

His mother had sounded almost crosser with him than she was with Hiro.

* * *

That had been last night. And now it was about to get worse.

As he rounded the corner, Max saw the familiar outline of his mother standing on the pavement outside his flat.

'Mum, you didn't have to do this. Truly, I'm fine.'

'You've put on weight.'

No kiss, no reassuring hug, thought Max. No words of comfort either.

Oh well, no change there.

'A bit.' He sucked in as much of his stomach as he could.

'Come on then, where's your key? Three hours on the coach, this trip's taken. You can make a cup of tea before we get down to business.'

'What business?' Fumbling, Max fitted the key in the lock. The flat wasn't hideously untidy, but his mother wouldn't be impressed when she spotted last night's saucepans still lounging in the sink.

'Hiro, of course.'

'But –'

'Don't even try and talk me out of it, Max. That lad stood up in church and made public vows. Marriage is for life,' she wagged a terrifying finger at her son, 'not for as long as it suits him. He needs to be reminded of that,' she announced ominously. 'And if you won't do it, I will.'

After a long day at work, Max was exhausted. To give himself a bit of breathing space, he went on ahead to the kitchen.

'I'll make that pot of tea. If you're staying the night, you can have my bed and I'll sleep on the sofa.' Since his mother was carrying a small suitcase, he guessed this was the plan. 'But you aren't going to be able to lecture Hiro about his wedding vows,' he called over his shoulder – quite bravely for him – 'because he isn't here.'

'We aren't all as useless as you,' his mother retorted. 'I'm going to pay him a visit, aren't I?'

Startled, Max looked around. His mother was standing in the kitchen doorway like Wyatt Earp in a crimplene shift, brandishing a notebook in one hand and a biro in the other.

'You can't do that!'

'Just give me his address.'

'I don't have it.'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'I'm not,' Max lied, his palms beginning to sweat. 'I don't know where he is.'

He did. Word had filtered through the local grapevine that Hiro had moved in with Adrian, but he'd had enough pride not to contact him.

Largely because there was no point.

And if there was anything more publicly humiliating, thought Max, than turning up on the doorstep of the husband who'd dumped you, begging him to change his mind and come back . . . well, it was having your mother do it for you.

'I can always tell when you're lying,' said Judy Mizuhara. 'Of course you know where he is.'

Max's hands shook as he poured boiling water into the sugar bowl. Oh God, how much more of this could he take?

'Mum, Hiro's gone. He didn't tell me where. I haven't seen or spoken to him for two weeks. Now why don't you stop interrogating me, put your pen away and just go and unpack?'

For a woman who wore Hush Puppies, Judy Mizuhara could certainly stomp her feet. Taking a deep breath, Max managed this time to fill the teapot. He was emptying the sugar bowl down the sink when the stomping grew louder. The floor began to quiver.

Oh, for heaven's sake, thought Max wearily, what now? It was like something out of _Jurassic Park_.

The split second before he turned around, he guessed.

But since there was no chance of escape – not even through the tiny kitchen window, which would never accommodate his hips now – he turned anyway.

His mother was doing that Wyatt Earp thing again. Only this time she was clutching a copy of the paperback Max had been reading last night in bed.

Miriam Stoppard's _Book of Pregnancy and Birth_.

At that moment Max quite envied Hiro. He wished he'd never given his mother his adderss.

'Oh yes.' Bracing himself, he mumbled, 'I forgot to mention it. I'm expecting a baby.'

Judy Mizuhara's face went purple, then white, then purple again.

Finally, she thundered, '_Whose?_'

* * *

It took Judy no time at all to dins out where her runaway son-in-law was now living.

Thirty seconds to look up the number of his insurance company in Max's Yellow Pages.

Another thirty seconds to learn that Hiro had left the office early.

Forty-five seconds to inform his startled secretary that it was imperative – yes, _imperative_ – that she be given his new address. 'I don't care what your company policy is. My name is Dr Blake and I'm calling from St Thomas's Hospital. I need to speak to Hiro Granger regarding a matter of extreme urgency.'

At the other end of the sitting room, cringing on the sofa, it occurred to Max that his mother had been watching too many episodes of _Hetty__Wainthropp__ Investigates_.

When it came to intimidation, Patricia Routledge had nothing on her.

'There.' Judy hung up the phone and stuck the address under her son's nose. 'You could have done that.'

Max watched her grimly shove her arms back into her sensible navy mac.

'Oh no, you can't do this.'

'Watch me.'

'It'll just make things worse!'

The look his mother gave him was loaded with contempt.

'You're pregnant. He's abandoned you. How much worse can it get?'

* * *

He's not here.' Warily, Adrian clutched the towel around his hips. He dimly remembered Max's furious mother from the wedding, when she had told him in no uncertain terms to stop dancing on the tables.

'You mean he's hiding upstairs, too frightened to face me? Tell Hiro his mother-in-law is here to see him and I'm not moving from this spot until I do.'

'But he isn't, I swear! You just missed him,' Adrian insisted. 'He left five minutes ago. You can search the house if you like.'

Judy Mizuhara eyed the stranger before her with distaste. If Hiro wasn't there, she wasn't about to put herself at risk by entering a house with a naked man in it.

'What time will he be back?'

This, Adrian thought fleetingly, rather depended on whether or not Hiro got lucky with whoever he was seeing tonight. But since Max's battleaxe of a mother wasn't likely to appreciate this information, he said, 'I don't know. Probably not too late.'

Just as well he was going out himself. He didn't envy Hiro one bit.

Before leaving the house an hour later, Adrian wrote a note on the back of a gas bill and propped it up in full view on the kitchen table.

Poor Hiro, the least he could do was warn him that his mother-in-law was in town and on the loose.

At the end of the road, not taking any chances, Judy Mizuhara lurked behind a postbox. She watched Hiro's friend let himself out of the house and head up the road in the opposite direction.

No sign of Hiro.

She rang the doorbell again, to check. Still no reply.

Never mind, she was in no hurry.

Grimly Judy thought, I can wait.

* * *

It wasn't a terrible anti-climax. Ray had been petrified it would be, but it wasn't. When he saw Hiro climb out of his car outside the house – looking even more handsome than he'd remembered – he found himself leaning so far out of his bedroom window that he almost toppled out.

Grinning and waving like some besotted groupie, he yelled, 'I'm coming down. You're _early_.'

Not very cool, maybe, but who cared?

Certainly not Hiro, who grinned and waved back, and shouted up, 'I couldn't wait.'

He took Ray to Le Vin Rose, an unpretentious candlelit wine bar in Bayswater packed with couples holding hands.

'How's your chest?' said Ray, as Hiro unbuttoned the middle button of his shirt, revealing the scrawl of faded black numbers.

'They won't go. I'm tattooed for life.'

'God, I'm sorry.'

'I'm not.' Smiling, Hiro buttoned himself back up. 'Some people are worth getting tattooed for. Did you tell Bev who you were seeing tonight?'

'I couldn't. She's still suicidal because you didn't ring her. How about you?'

'Oh, I'm not suicidal.'

'Berk. I meant, have you told Adrian yet?'

'No.'

'Every time Bev mentions your name,' Ray blurted out, 'I blush. Honestly, it's mad. I feel so guilty, as if I'm sneaking around with someone who's _married_.'

'You poor thing.' Hiro took his hand, curling his fingers protectively over Ray's. 'So you've had a terrible day?'

The physical contact sent shivers of pleasure zooming up and down Ray's arm and down his spine. Heavens, it was ages since he'd felt like this.

'Actually, it wasn't that bad. I went for a swim with Bryan Kutsenov in Tabitha Lester's swimming pool. He invited me to a party tonight but I ad to turn him down because I was seeing you. Still, he was okay about it.' He shrugged, flicking his blue-tipped fringe out of his eyes. 'He took it pretty well, in fact.'

'Same here,' Hiro confided. 'I had Madonna in the office this morning, pestering me to take her out to dinner tonight. Had to call security in the end to get rid of her. _No_, Madonna, I kept telling her, I can't see you this evening. I've already arranged to meet Ray.'

Having opened his mouth to say yes, but Hiro was joking and he wasn't, Ray promptly shut it again. Boasting wasn't an attractive quality. Besides, what if Bryan Kutsenov did contact him? Much as he liked Hiro, it was very early days. Being brutally honest here, if Bryan rang the salon and invited him out again – and this time he happened to be free – well, he'd be out of there like a shot.

Instead, Ray said gravely, 'Thank you. I'm so glad you chose me.'

'So am I. Glad you chose me, I mean. You wouldn't want to get involved with Bryan Kutsenov anyway,' Hiro assured Ray. 'You can't trust blokes like that, they'd mess you around no end.'

'Oh, I know.'

'He's seeing Daisy Schofield,' Hiro went on. 'There was a picture of them together in the paper this morning.'

Ray took a gulp of wine. He nodded sagely over the rim of his glass.

'I saw it too.'

An hour later, Ray's stomach began to rumble noisily. Too nervous to eat earlier, he was now starving.

'I've booked a table at L'Etoile,' said Hiro, 'for nine thirty.'

'You always say just the right thing.' Ray could've kissed him. This was a definite step up from warm beer and soggy pizza.

Not that he was mercenary, but it showed he cared, Ray thought hastily, hugging himself as he watched Hiro make his way over to the bar to settle their bill. In fact, the evening was going so well, he wouldn't care if pizza was all he ate.

I've met someone I really like, he thought joyfully, and he really likes me too.

'Damn.' Hiro was back, frowning. 'My credit cards expired.'

'Oh!' Ray reached for his wallet. 'I've got some money here somewhere . . .'

'It's okay, I had enough cash on me to pay the bill.' He motioned Ray to put his wallet away. 'It just means a bit of a detour. The new card's at home. I need to pick it up before we head to the restaurant.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Yay, Max has made an appearance again! I just love his mother. And what a jerk Hiro is, not telling Ray that he _is_ actually married, right? Anyway, mina, review as always please?

Ja Ne .


	15. Chapter 15

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there everyone! Sorry for the long wait, but I had my prelims going on last week so all of my energy went into trying to pass them. But here's a wee chapter for you while I get busy writing the next one.

Oh and to **harukatenohu** I'm sorry but Kai won't show up again for another few chapters still. But don' fear! He definitely comes back into it. He has to.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Not keen to be arrested for loitering, Judy Mizuhara had spent the last two and a half hours pacing the length of Milligan Road, planning in detail what she would say to her abysmal son-in-law when she finally got her hands on him.

She was at the far end of the street, three hundred yards from the house, when she spotted a familiar car approaching from the pillar-box end.

Oh yes, that was definitely his white Rover pulling up under the streetlamp outside number forty-two.

Pulling her navy mac more tightly around her waist, Judy marched purposely towards the car.

'Two seconds,' Hiro assured Ray as he climbed out. 'I know exactly where it is.'

'Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.' Waving him off, Ray turned up the volume on the stereo as U2 launched into 'Sunday Bloody Sunday'. This was blissful, they even shared the same taste in music. Imagine how horrible it would be, meeting someone as perfect as Hiro, the two of you getting on like a house on fire, and then discovering that while you were a U2 boy, he was a . . . well, a Des O'Connor man.

With his eyes closed and the music blasting out, Ray neither saw nor heard the middle-aged woman in the tightly belted mac hiss the word 'Whore!' at him through the car's closed window before storming up the front path.

In the kitchen, Hiro stared in disbelief at the scrawled note Adrian had left propped against a dirty coffee cup.

Warning! Your mother-in-law was here looking for you and she's _coming back later_. If you want to hang on to your ging-gangs, hide the bread-knife!

Cheers, Ade.

PS If you murder her and need to dispose of the body, use the black bin liners under the sink.

It was alright for Adrian to joke about it, Hiro thought, she wasn't his mother-in-law. Then he went hot and cold; if they hadn't been late for the restaurant and Ray had come in with him, he would have seen the damning note.

Crushing the gas bill into a ball, he threw it into the bin.

He liked Ray a lot, too much to want to blow it on their first date. He certainly wasn't about to tell him he was married, with a pregnant husband. Not that that was his fault, Hiro thought with renewed irritation, but some guys could be funny about things like that.

So much for tidying his bedroom earlier and changing the sheets. No way was he going to risk inviting Ray back later for a nightcap.

The sudden shrill of the doorbell made him jump. Jesus, who was _that?_

Ray?

Or the mother-in-law from hell?

Feeling sick, Hiro realised that either way, he couldn't not answer it.

Praying it was Ray, he pulled open the front door.

His head jerked back as Judy Mizuhara slapped him hard across the face.

'So that's why you left, is it?' Furiously, she indicated the car behind her with Ray inside. 'That's why you abandoned my son? Well, let me tell you, I won't stand for it! You're going to face up to your responsibilities, my lad. Max needs his husband, that baby needs a father and you have a _duty_ to –'

'Judy, not now.'

Hiro froze as over his mother-in-law's shoulder he saw Ray, in the passenger seat, observing the goings-on. This was a nightmare. He had to get out of here fast.

'Oh no you don't,' Judy Mizuhara yelled as he slammed the front door shut behind him and tried to move past her. 'I came here to talk to you!'

'I don't need this.' Gritting his teeth, he forcibly removed her clawing hand from his arm. 'I do _not need _this.'

In the car, Ray stared open-mouthed at the bizarre scene. Until a few seconds ago he had been oblivious to everything, drumming his heels and singing along with Bono. Only when the last stirring chords of the song had faded away had he opened his eyes and seen Hiro remonstrating with a middle-aged woman on his door step.

Now he watched Hiro push past her and head back to the car. As he yanked open the driver's door, Ray heard the woman – hot on Hiro's heels – shout furiously, 'You're not going to get away with this!'

'My God, what's going on?' squealed Ray.

'Just ignore her.'

'You _won't_ ignore me! I'll make you sorry you ever –'

As the engine roared into life, Hiro managed to wrench the door shut. The woman, her hands still scrabbling at the handle, leapt away as he stuck his foot down and screeched of down the road.

'Sorry about that.'

'Hiro, who _was _she?' Ray swivelled round in his seat, peering back at the woman on the pavement. Then he turned and stared at Hiro. 'What the hell was that about?'

Hiro shook his head and braked as they took the corner.

'Client with a grudge. It happens, I'm afraid. She and her husband took out massive life insurance. Then he killed himself. The policy didn't cover suicide but she won't accept that.' Hiro breathed out slowly. They were safe now; his hands had stopped shaking. 'Poor woman. I think she's lost her mind. I've told her a hundred times the insurance isn't valid and that the company aren't going to pay out. But it just doesn't sink in. She thinks I'm cheating her out of three hundred grand.'

'You're kidding!' Ray's eyes were like saucers. 'That's _terrible_.'

Hiro nodded.

'She's been harassing me at the office. Now, clearly, she's found out where I live. I mean, I feel sorry for her, but what can I do?'

'Tell the police for a start.' Urgently, Ray clutched his arm. 'She could be dangerous!'

'We've already spoken to the police. It's not worth it. They can't arrest her until she actually does something illegal. But they're aware of the situation,' he added. 'If my windows get smashed or the house burns to the ground, they'll have a good idea who to blame.'

'If your _house_ burns to the ground?' Ray echoed the words, aghast.

'Don't worry,' Hiro smiled at him, 'I'm fully insured.'

Was that meant to be reassuring? Ray wasn't the least bit reassured. It was, he thought indignantly, an outrageous state of affairs.

'But what about breach of the peace, can't they get her for that? Or . . . or, those stalking laws,' he exclaimed. 'I mean, that's what this madwoman's doing, isn't it? Stalking you?'

Any minute now, Hiro sensed, Ray was liable to make a dash for the nearest phone box and start dialling 999.

'She's an old lady,' he told Ray, 'who's just lost her husband. She's out of her mind with grief. Would a spell in Holloway really do any good? And besides,' he went on gently, 'imagine how I'd feel, knowing I helped to put her there. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.'

'Stop the car,' said Ray.

'What?'

'I said, stop the car.'

'Why?'

Nervously, Hiro looked around for a phone box. He couldn't see one, but dare he risk it?

'Because you are the nicest, kindest, most generous man I have ever met.' His voice catching with emotion, Ray reached for Hiro. 'And I'm sorry, but I just have to give you a massive, _massive_ kiss.'

'Okay moment-of-truth time,' Hiro murmured several highly satisfactory minutes later. 'You may be about to change your mind about me.'

Ray, wondering if he'd ever been happier in his life, kissed his earlobe before snuggling his head further into the curve of Hiro's shoulder.

'Why?'

'I have a confession to make.'

'About what?'

'The bit about me being generous.'

'Why?'

'My credit card. I forgot to pick it up.'

'Oh. Well, I've got eight pounds in my wallet.'

'I've got about eight pounds fifty.' Hiro's smile was rueful.

Ray turned his watch towards him and peered at the hands in the dim amber glow of the over head streetlight.

'We've missed our table now anyway. That's alright.'

'Why is it alright?' said Hiro.

Between kisses, Ray whispered, 'Because sometimes I actually prefer pizza.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Oh my God. Hiro's such a bastard isn't he? All that slick talk to get out of telling Ray the truth, but of course Ray fell for it, he's such a hopeless romantic. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there y'all! Just a little note to say that I know that I haven't put Kai in this a lot, but that's just the way that I planned it. This is a Ray central fic, so it's mainly going to have him as the focus. Besides, Kai is a reporter and he has other things to do. But never fear! He has to come back because Ray agreed to be in the programme that he was filming.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Saturday was always the busiest day in the shop. By five o'clock Max was looking forward to getting home and putting his aching feet up. Or he would have been, if only he knew his mother wasn't going to be there, ready to launch into round three of her tirade against Hiro.

'Hell,' Bruce said suddenly, 'I haven't done the present yet.'

'What present?'

'Mother's. It's her birthday, that's why we're all trooping round there tonight.'

By the way he rolled his eyes, Max guessed that he wasn't enthralled by the prospect of a duty visit with Florence.

'What are you getting her?'

'God knows.' Faster than a lizards tongue, Bruce's gaze flicked over the stock on display. 'Something around the hundred-pound mark. That fruit bowl, maybe. No, she had one of those for Christmas. Ah, candlesticks, that'll do. Those two over there.' As he nodded towards a pair of enamelled silver candlesticks, he picked up the phone and punched in a number. 'Gift wrap them for me, would you, Max? There's a good boy. A nd pick out a card.' With his free hand he gestured towards the carousel.

'I don't know what kind of card your mother would like.' Max was indignant, hurt on Florence's behalf.

'She's sixty-two years old.' Bruce hunched his shoulders impatiently. 'What more d'you need to know? Just grab something with flowers on.'

As he listened to Bruce arranging a game of golf for tomorrow morning, Max wondered if he expected him to sign the card as well, maybe pp it on his behalf. He had never met Bruce's mother but they had chatted briefly on the phone several times when Florence had rung the shop to speak to Bruce.

She'd sounded brilliant, Max thought rebelliously. Far nicer than her mean old son.

'Use the gold paper,' Bruce called over his shoulder.

'You mean the three-pounds-a-sheet stuff?' Behind his back Max pulled a scandalised face. What the hell.' Bruce flapped a pudgy, indulgent hand in the air. 'It's her birthday. She likes a bit of gold.'

* * *

'I'm sorry, we're about to close,' Bruce informed the customer pushing the door open at five thirty. 

'I know that, I'm Max's mother.' More than a match for Bruce, Judy Mizuhara swept past him. 'Hiro still isn't at home,' she informed Max, who was lugging a box of china Dalmatians out of the stockroom. 'That's four times I've been round there today and no one's in. Out with his floozy, I'll be bound. Scared to face me. Should you be lifting that?' She fixed her son with a disapproving eye.

Too late, Max realised that there were one or two facts he should have warned his mother not to mention in front of Bruce.

'Mum, I don't care if Hiro's out with his floozy.' It was a lie, but Bruce's attention had to be diverted somehow. 'I don't care if he has a whole harem of floozies. Mum went to see him last night,' he told Bruce, pink-cheeked, 'and he was out with a boy.'

'So that's why he walked out on you. He's found someone else.' Bruce nodded; he had suspected as much all along. Then he frowned. 'But –'

'Okay if I leave these until Monday,' Max blurted out, 'now that mum's here? And you've got Florence's birthday do to get to . . . oh, mustn't forget the present . . .' She thrust the gift-wrapped box, trailing spirals of gold ribbon, into Bruce's unsuspecting arms. He stared down at it, the with bewilderment back at Max.

'Why shouldn't you be lifting anything heavy?'

'Bad back. Nothing to worry about,' Max assured him. 'Just a touch of psoriasis.'

'Psoriasis?'

'Not psoriasis. Sciatica.' Was that right? He felt himself break into a light sweat. 'Or lumbago.' That was definitely a back-achey thing. 'Maybe lumbago,' he announced, 'the doctor wasn't sure.'

'You didn't tell me you had lumbago.' Judy Mizuhara's tone was accusing.

'It's not serious, just the occasional twinge. Come on, mum, let's go.'

'All right, all right, but you watch yourself,' his mother warned. 'You shouldn't be lugging heavy boxes around anyway.' For good measure she wagged a finger at Max. 'It's not good for the baby.'

* * *

'Stay,' Florence begged when the doorbell rang. 'Just for a bit.' She gulped down her tumbler of whisky. 'I can't face them sober. Lord, this is worse than a visit from the Social Services.' 

Ray got up to answer the door.

'I'll stay on one condition. If Jason kicks me, I'm allowed to lock him in the microwave.'

'Happy birthday, mother.' Dutifully Bruce pecked Florence's powdered cheek.

'Many happy returns,' Verity echoed, nudging Jason forwards. 'Go on, darling, give Granny a kiss.'

'You smell of whisky,' Jason told Florence.

'Thank heavens for that, I'd hate to think I'd been drinking cold tea. And speaking of drinks.' She turned towards Ray, who was gazing longingly in the direction of the microwave. 'Could you be an angel and do the honours?'

The birthday present was unwrapped and duly admired. Elegant though the candlesticks were, they weren't to Florence's taste.

'Beautiful, Bruce. Really beautiful. Wherever did you find them?'

This was purely for Florence's own amusement; did he seriously think she didn't know?

'Spotted them in a little shop down Covent Garden.' Bruce looked pleased with himself.

'You should track down their supplier. This kind of thing would sell well in your shop. How's business by the way?'

'Oh, pretty good. Pretty good.'

'And Max?'

Bruce's expression changed. He shook his head.

'Ah well, bad news there. He's pregnant.'

'Oh dear. Max's husband left him a few weeks ago,' Florence briefly explained to Ray. 'My word, what a muddle. Poor Max.'

'Never mind poor Max,' spluttered Bruce. 'Poor _me_, more like.'

Florence kept a straight face.

'Oh Bruce, what _have_ you been up to? Don't tell me the baby's yours.'

Now it was Verity's turn to splutter.

'Florence, of course it isn't his!'

'Joke,' said Florence.

'It's not a joking matter,' Verity declared vehemently. 'How can Max _do_ this to Bruce? He'll be wanting paternity pay for heaven's sake! Months and months off work, money for doing absolutely nothing –'

'He won't be getting it of course,' Bruce interrupted. 'I'll have to sack him. But it's not going to be pleasant . . . and as for the inconvenience it's going to –'

'Oof!' gasped Ray as Jason kicked him.

'Darling,' Verity cooed, 'how many times have I asked you not to do that? People don't like to be kicked.'

'You can't sack Max just because he's pregnant,' Florence protested. 'That's awful. Anyway, aren't there laws against that sort of thing?'

'I can see up your shorts,' Jason told Ray.

Ray beckoned Jason towards him.

'And I can see right through your head.' Peering through one ear, he said, 'In here and out through the other side.'

'You can't.' Jason was outraged.

'Oh I definitely can. Hang on, give me that drinking straw. If I slide it in, it'll go all the way through –'

'Ray's teasing you.' Verity's tone was stiff with disapproval. 'Come over here, darling, and sit by me.'

'I won't be sacking him because he's pregnant,' Bruce was explaining with exaggerated patience. 'I'll come up with something else.'

Florence thought how much she disliked his habit of treating her like a seven-year-old.

'But I thought Max was a model employee.'

'He was. But now he's pregnant, he'll have to go.' He shrugged. 'Money's money. We're a small business, not a charity.'

Bruce had it all planned. Since he may as well gat maximum use out of him, he would allow Max to work right up to the birth, but keep a diary recording anything that could count as a black mark against him. When the baby arrived, the chances were that Max'd change his mind about coming back to work anyway, Bruce privately thought. But if Max didn't – well, he'd have enough ammunition by then to prove to any tribunal that he was within his rights to sack him.

Jason was practicing violent karate chops on the edge of the coffee table. Glancing across at Ray, Florence caught the reproachful look in his eye. You lied, the look told Florence, you promised I could put him in the microwave.

'Darling, aren't you in a hurry to leave?'

The moment she said it, Ray perked up. As he bent to give Florence a hug, he whispered, 'Cheer up, soon be over.'

Verity pointedly looked away as Ray's black shorts rode up his smooth brown thighs.

'I can see your pants,' Jason crowed.

'Have a good time.' Fondly, Florence patted Ray's arm. 'Ray's found himself a nice young man,' she explained to Verity and Bruce when the door had closed behind him.

Verity, who disapproved mightily of Ray's indecently short shorts and iridescent highlights, said coolly, 'Has he indeed? And what colour is his hair . . . _mauve_?'

* * *

Max hated it when his mother was right and he was wrong, but this time there was no getting away from it. 

No matter how hard he tried to juggle the figures, they simply wouldn't balance.

'You see, that's you all over,' Judy Mizuhara declared, 'living in cloud-cuckoo land. If this is how much you bring in,' she tapped the sheet of paper with her biro, 'and this is how much you have to shell out,' – another triumphant tap – 'well, let's face it, you're sunk.'

Max rubbed his aching temples. He didn't know which was worse, struggling to add up or having to listen to his mother's incessant outpourings.

'Set about getting that husband of yours back, that's what you have to do.' Judy nodded briefly.

Oh God.

'Mother, I know Hiro. He's not going to change his mind. I'm on my own now.'

'Ah, but you're not on your own, are you? You've got a baby on the way. You can't live on fresh air , my boy. Not that you could call London air fresh.' This last remark was accompanied by a snort of contempt.

'I'll give up the flat. Find somewhere cheaper,' Max said wearily.

'Oh yes, that'll do the baby the power of good, growing up in some filthy tenement with muggers and drug addicts lurking on every corner. No no _no_,' Judy Mizuhara went on, her expression firm. 'Have another talk with Hiro. I'm sure he'll help out. After all, that's what husbands are for.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Well there you go. Max has reappeared, and his mother's as bossy as any other parent. I just love Florence, she's close to being my favourite character. Anyway, reviews please. They keep me sane during my school week.

Paternity Pay like maternity pay but for male mothers (carriers) like Max.


	17. Chapter 17

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there! Here's the next chapter for you all to enjoy. I guess it's mostly with Florence in this chapter, but it ties in with something that I plan to do later on (which involves Kai!). So all I can say is R&R please.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

'You see, the thing is mother,' said Bruce, 'if we go through the bank, the amount of interest they would charge would be extortionate. Then it occurred to me that you've got all this money sloshing around in your accounts . . . and it's not like you're _using_ it for anything . . .'

Verity had taken Jason through to the kitchen in search of Coca-Cola. As soon as Bruce had pulled his chair closer to hers and assumed an earnest expression, Florence had known what to expect.

Her heart had sunk.

It's my birthday and what do I get? A brief duty visit from my family and a request for money.

A request for _more_ money, Florence amended. Whatever had happened to the last ten thousand . . . and the twenty before that?

'How do you know I'm not using it? I may have plans,' she said calmly.

Bruce shot her a look of disbelief.

'Plans to do what? You don't have a business to keep running. You never do anything, go anywhere . . .'

'I know.' Florence shrugged, indicating with a wiggle of her empty glass that a refill wouldn't go amiss. 'So maybe it's about time I started. Doing thins and going places,' she mused, enjoying the expression on her son's face. 'Jolly expensive things and frighteningly expensive places.'

'Okay, fine, but surely you can spare _some_ cash.'

Bruce's neck had reddened, signalling his discomfort. Normally, Florence remembered, she said yes straight away and scribbled out a cheque on the spot.

Oh Bruce, I'm your mother, not a gourmet meal-ticket for life.

Aloud she said, 'Darling, pour me another drink, would you? Plenty of ice this time.'

In the kitchen a lot of furious whispering ensued.

'I don't know why she has to be so difficult,' Florence heard Verity hiss. 'You'll get everything when she dies anyway.'

'Is Granny going to die?' Jason sounded enthralled. 'When, _soon_?'

If this were a P.D. James thriller, Florence thought, I'd be lucky to see out the night.

Wheeling herself over to the kitchen doorway, she announced, 'I'm sixty-two, Verity, not a hundred and two.'

'Sorry, Florence, you weren't meant to hear that.' Tight-lipped, Verity braced herself against the fridge. 'But it's true, isn't it? Bruce is your son. It's practically his money, and I don't think you're being terribly sensitive here. Can't you understand how humiliating it is for him having to ask you for something that's rightfully his anyway?'

Since nobody appeared to be getting her that drink, Florence manoeuvred past them and did it herself.

'How much do you need?'

Bruce's stubby fingers fiddled with the knot of his topaz Armani tie.

'Fifteen.'

'Fifteen pounds or fifteen thousand?'

Not in the mood for jokes, Bruce flicked her a glance and helped himself to a good inch of gin.

'I'll give you five thousand.'

Verity, looking as if a couple of hundred volts had just shot up her bottom, yelped, 'Oh, come _on_, that's not –'

'If it isn't enough,' Florence went on, 'I suggest you sell that shiny new Mercedes.'

Heavens, this was so liberating! Like wriggling out of the world's tightest corset, Florence thought delightedly. I should have done this _years_ ago.

'You mean you want us to live like paupers, mother? Is that it?'

'I just think it would be nice to see you learning to support yourself,' Florence said pleasantly. 'Living within your own means instead of relying on endless hand-outs from me.'

'Okay, if that's how you feel.' Draining his glass, Bruce pointedly looked at his watch. 'Anyway, we'd better be off. Don't worry about us, mother. The shop will probably go under, we'll sell the house, Jason will have to go to some godforsaken state school, but don't let that bother you for a second –'

'Bruce, do you love me?' Florence interrupted him in mid-rant.

'What?'

'Do you love me?' Reaching for her cigarettes, she lit one, chiefly to annoy Verity. 'Do you care about me, do you want me to be happy?'

'That's a ridiculous question.' Still flushed with anger, Bruce shook his head. 'Of course I do.' He put his arm around Verity's thin shoulders for emphasis. 'We both do.'

'It's just, you've been here for over an hour.' Florence gazed steadily at the pair of them. 'And all we've done so far is talk about you. You haven't even asked me yet how I am.'

She saw Verity give him a meaningful jab in the ribs.

'Mother, I'm sorry.' Like a small boy prodded into politeness, Bruce recited dutifully, 'How are you?'

'Extremely well, thank you. Feeling quite – what's the word – rejuvenated.' Florence beamed. 'That's the amazing thing about ruts, isn't it? You don't realise quite how much of one you've been stuck in, until someone comes along and hauls you out.'

Bewildered, Bruce said, 'You've lost me, mother.' Surely this wasn't something to do with religion?

'I have met someone,' Florence announced, who makes me feel very happy.'

'Good grief.' Bruce's double chins quivered, signalling his amazement.

'A gentleman friend,' said Verity. 'Florence, how nice. I'm so pleased for you.'

We want to enjoy ourselves. Have fun,' Florence said. 'Travel the world, _in style_.'

'So he's retired.' Bruce nodded with approval. Fellow must be loaded if he could afford holidays like that. 'What line of work was he in?'

'Ooh, this and that.' Florence gave her son and daughter-in-law a bright smile. 'But he's not retired.'

'If he isn't retired,' said Verity, 'how's he going to manage to travel the world with you?' Although with computers these days, she supposed, anything was possible.

'Easy.' The extravagant rings on Florence's fingers flashed as she waved her hand. 'He's between jobs right now.'

'So how can he afford to whisk you off –'

'He's not whisking me,' Florence announced, 'I'm whisking him.'

'Mother, are you _mad_?'

'He takes care of me. He makes me laugh. When I'm with him I feel _alive_ again, for the first time in years.' Calmly Florence blew a perfect smoke ring. 'And I don't care if people think I'm a silly old fool, because they don't know what he's like. We're happy, and that's what counts.'

Bruce didn't like the sound of this at all. Suspicion wrinkled his forehead.

'Why would people think you're a silly old fool?'

With a careless shrug, Florence said, 'He's what you might call a younger man, that's all.'

Oh, terrific.

'How much younger?'

'Look, it's my life. If it doesn't matter to us, why should anyone else be bothered?'

'Mother. How much younger?'

'Quite a bit younger than me. Oh, all right, all right,' she admitted with a sigh. 'If you must know, younger than you too.'

* * *

'Look at you, all sparkly-eyed,' Florence said fondly, when Ray returned just before midnight. 'No need to ask you if you had a good evening.'

'I did, I did.' Kicking off his shoes, Ray pirouetted around the sitting room.

'So where is he?'

'I'm playing it cool, keeping him keen.' Dizzy from spinning, Ray threw himself down on the velvet sofa. 'Don't want him thinking I'm a pushover. I mean, you know I am and I know I am, but he doesn't need to find that out just yet.'

'Tactics,' said Florence. 'I'm impressed.'

'Me too.' Ray grinned. 'So how was your evening?'

'Remarkably similar, as a matter of fact. I refused to give Bruce what he wanted. Except in his case, of course, it was money.' Florence's mouth began to twitch. 'Actually, I did a bit of a naughty thing tonight.'

Sitting up, Ray hugged his knees.

'Don't tell me, you ate all the vanilla truffles. No, better than that, Jason kicked you too. You went berserk and dangled him by his ankles out of the window until he squealed for mercy.'

If Jason had tried to kick her, Florence thought, she would certainly have been tempted to go in for a spot of ankle-dangling.

'I told Bruce and Verity I couldn't give them the money they wanted because I needed it for myself. I said I'd got myself a toyboy and that we were going to take off together on a round-the-world cruise and spend spend spend until every last penny was gone.'

'You didn't!' Ray squealed and clapped his hands.

'Oh yes. You should have seen their faces. Sheer bliss,' sighed Florence. 'When I assured Bruce that if we married he wouldn't have to call Orlando dad, he almost had a panic attack on the spot.'

'They really believed you?'

Ray was by this time crying with laughter. He wiped his eyes with the front of his black shirt; being black it was handy for soaking up any running eyeliner.

'They believed every word.'

'But . . . Orlando!'

'Seemed like the kind of name a gigolo would have.' Florence looked pleased with herself. 'I didn't plan any of this in advance, you know. All spur-of-the-moment stuff. I just made it up as I went along. It was brilliant, I was _so_ impressed with myself . . . heavens, I could become the next Barabra Cartland.'

'One's enough,' said Ray. 'Anyway, there isn't enough pink lipstick in the world for two of you. A fortune-hunting gigolo,' he went on, reaching for the box of vanilla truffles and generously offering one to Florence. 'What gave you that idea?'

'Tom Barrett and his mail-order bride, the girl he brought over from Thailand. I told you about him, remember?'

Ray nodded.

'You told me it wouldn't last.'

'He knows that. Tom isn't stupid. But he's having fun, doing what he wants to do,' said Florence. 'And his daughter isn't giving him grief about it. As long as Tom's happy, she's happy. She isn't having a nervous breakdown at the thought of all the money she won't be inheriting.'

'So how long are you going to keep this up?' Ray spoke through a mouthful of truffle.

'Ooh, a couple of months, I thought.'

'A couple of months! Isn't Bruce going to want to meet this no-good lover of yours?'

'Probably.' Florence shrugged. 'But he won't be able to, will he?' She took a jaunty swig of Scotch. 'I'll tell him Orlando's fussy about who he meets and that, basically, Bruce just isn't rich enough.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Well, there you go. I bet none of you can guess what's going to happen later on, can you? Oh, this is so much fun to write. . 


	18. Chapter 18

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there! I'm really sorry to all of you who may possibly be getting bored of this since there is not much mention of Kai, but it's just the way I've planned it. Sorry. But you have to remember that he's a journalist so he has a lot of other work to do, tedious stuff that I don't really know about so can't write. I'll try to put him in the fic more but I can't make promises! And don't worry, this is definitely still a Kai/Ray fic, just others get in the way.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

For Max, the next two weeks were a nightmare. Every day, during his lunch hour and after work, he trudged from hideous flat to even more hideous flat, desperately searching for anything remotely habitable.

Every evening, when his mother phoned from Manchester, Max lied brightly to her, insisting he was fine and giving the impression that the only reason he hadn't found somewhere to live yet was because there were so many gorgeous properties to choose from.

And ten there was work itself, more a minefield nowadays than a shop, with Bruce feigning concern for his well-being when all the time – Max just _knew_ – he was desperately plotting how he was going to sack him. Bruce's mood hadn't been improved, either, by the news that his mother had taken up with some unscrupulous toyboy and was evidently planning to squander all her money on him instead of giving it to her son.

'She's gone barmy, completely barmy. I could get her sectioned for this,' he raged. 'As for business,' he muttered ominously, 'I don't know how I'm going to keep it together, I really don't.'

The atmosphere in the shop wasn't a happy one. And, sod's law, the harder Max tried to be the perfect employee, the more things went wrong. Having never been late back from lunch before, he promptly earned himself two black marks in a week.

'I'm so sorry, the bus broke down and I had to run the last half a mile,' he gabbled, bursting into the shop at ten past two. The flat he had rushed out to view had gone before he'd got there; another one pound forty wasted on bus fares.

'I need you to be here on time,' Bruce told him, even though the shop was empty. As he noted Max's lateness in his diary with secret satisfaction he announced ominously, 'This isn't good enough.'

As he was leaving that evening, Mac saw a car he recognised parked on the double yellows outside the shop.

Hiro's friend, Adrian, beckoned him over.

'Max, it's about our mother. These phone calls, they've got to stop.'

'I've told her that already.'

Max reddened; every evening his mother delighted in recounting the details of her latest torrent of abuse. It was so humiliating. Not to mention pointless.

'We have to keep the answering machine on all the time now,' said Adrian. 'It's a real pain.'

'I'm sorry. I don't want her doing it any more than you do.' Max fiddled with the newspaper in his hands. He had three more flats to see and was desperate not to be late.

'Anyway, Hiro's moving out next week, so after that she'll be wasting her breath.' Adrian took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked it into the gutter. 'Maybe you could pass the message on.'

Max's hands were clammy.

'Hiro's moving out? Where?'

Adrian gave him a measured look.

'Since your mother's the reason he's going, I don't think he'd be too happy if I gave you the address.'

Be brave, be brave.

'Is he . . . um, moving in with his girlfriend?'

'I really can't say. Max, don't ask me anymore questions, okay? I'm just the go-between here.'

At least he had had the grace to look embarrassed. Max thought of all the meals he had cooked for Adrian during the first weeks after his own husband had left him. Then, he had been shocked to the core, frequently drunk and desperate for company. Max had listened to his endless self-pitying ramblings, fed and watered him, even ironed his shirts when Adrian told him Jack had ran off with their only iron.

How many times during those weeks had Adrian shaken his head and told him how grateful he was? 'True friends, that's what you and Hiro are,' he had burbled in a maudlin fashion after his ninth or tenth can of Stella. 'I mean it, I don't know what I'd do without the two of you.'

That had been then, of course, and this was now.

A whole year later.

Adrian was over Jack. And he was sober.

'I'm looking for a flat as well,' said Max. 'Actually, I'm late for an appointment. I don't suppose you could give me a lift to Finsbury Park?'

'I would,' Adrian lied, 'but I'm in a bit of a hurry myself.'

'I've seen forty-three flats in the last fortnight. They've all been terrible.' Max gave it one last try. 'Please?'

But it was no good. Adrian wasn't his friend anymore, he was Hiro's.

'Sorry, Max, I just can't. You'd be better off taking the tube anyway.'

Better off jumping in front of it at this rate, thought Max as he watched the car pull away.

* * *

Two of the flats were awful but the third – in Clerkenwell – was okay. Max told the landlord he was very, very interested.

By the time he got home, there was a message on the machine from the landlord telling him that he had let the flat go to someone else.

Max reheated the remains of last night's pasta and drank a pint of his latest craving, strawberry milkshake. Then he ate two Chelsea buns and a tin of rice pudding, before running himself a bath.

While he could still afford hot water.

Afterwards, he surveyed himself in the bedroom mirror, peeling of his dressing gown as cautiously as a plastic surgery patient having the last bandages removed.

No wonder no one wants to rent me a flat, Max thought, I'm so fat and hideous-looking I don't deserve one.

Covering himself back up – well, it wasn't fair on the mirror – he made his way through to the kitchen and unwrapped a packet of custard creams.

It was either eat or cry, and he was running short of tissues.

Not to mention time, Max realised with a stab of anxiety. In just over a fortnight he had to be out of here. If he didn't find himself somewhere else to live – and fast – he would be homeless.

Or, worse still, back in Manchester with his mother.

A bit of Dutch courage would have come in handy. Since he wasn't allowed to down a bottle of wine, Max psyched himself up with another biscuit instead.

Swallowing his pride along with his custard cream, he punched out Adrian's number.

Predictably, the answering machine picked up the call.

'Hiro, it's me. Max. I need to speak to you urgently.' His voice began to quaver. 'Please ring me back.'

Dropping the receiver back on to the hook, he gazed at the phone.

Less than two minutes later, it rang.

'What's happened?' Hiro spoke without preamble. 'Is something wrong?'

Was something _wrong_?

Oh no, everything's fine, thought Max, I'm pregnant and my husband's walked out on me and I'm probably about to loose my job and I don't have anywhere to live and if I don't stop eating I'm going to end up the size of the Millennium Dome –

'Max? Are you there?'

It was weird, hearing his voice again. Max gripped the receiver in both hands.

'I've spoken to my mother. There won't be any more phone calls.'

'Well, good. Not that it makes any difference to me,' said Hiro. 'As Ade told you, I'll be out of here by next week.'

Right, here goes, thought Max. He took a deep steadying breath.

'Hiro, I can't cope. Financially, I mean. I'm looking for a cheaper flat, but it's still going to be almost impossible to manage on my wages.'

Long pause.

'You should have thought of that before you got pregnant,' Hiro replied coldly. 'So? What does this have to do with me?'

How had it come to this? We were so happy once, thought Max. Nobody could have been more charming than Hiro when they'd first met.

But he thought he knew, now, what it was. The thrill, for Hiro, was all in the chase. Once the novelty had worn off, he had begun to loose interest.

Basically, he had a short affection-span, Max reminded himself. Oh yes, and when it came to money, he'd always been a bit mean.

'I thought . . . I thought maybe you could help me out.' The empty custard cream wrapper crackled as he curled his fingers helplessly around it.

'Impossible, I'm afraid. I'm moving too, aren't I? This new flat's costing me a bomb.'

This new love-nest, you mean, thought Max.

'The thing is, I was talking to Bruce about it. He told me I was legally entitled to maintenance. If I go to a solicitor, he'd be able to serve you with –'

'No chance, Max. I'd fight it all the way. You chose to have this baby, I didn't. God,' he sounded disgusted, 'you're a bastard, aren't you? First you wreck our marriage and now you have the nerve to expect _me_ to support you. If you're in a mess, that's your fault, not mine. I'm the innocent party here and I'm damned if you're going to bleed me dry.'

'I don't want to bleed you dry.' Max was instantly consumed with guilt; Hiro had always been able to argue a case with terrifying efficiency. 'But I'm desperate, Hiro. I have _no_ money, and as the law stands, you have to –'

'Don't threaten me with the law! I'm changing my address, I can change jobs too. So the law's going to have its work cut out, making me do anything.' He spoke with an air of finality. 'Because they'll have to catch me first.'

* * *

Max was alone in the shop the next morning, disentangling bubble-wrap from a box of alarmingly delicate porcelain figurines.

When the phone rang, his shattered nerves reacted as if a bomb had gone off. Max's fingers jerked and an especially fragile porcelain daffodil, clutched to the bosom of a pallid faced young country girl, caught on the corner of bubble-wrap and snapped off in his hand.

The figurines weren't wildly expensive, but that was beside the point. This miniature daffodil, Max thought, was in effect his P45.

He pictured himself, bags packed, climbing on the coach about to head up the M1.

Home to mother.

Truly a fate worse than death.

'Hello,' he sighed into the phone.

'Oh my word, that won't do at all. No no _no_,' a familiar voice scolded him good-naturedly. 'You're supposed to say "Good morning, Special Occasions, how may I help you?" in a _sickeningly_ cheerful manner. I'm sorry Max, you don't sound nearly enough like a lobotomised air hostess. Instant dismissal for you.'

Against all the odds, Max felt his spirits lift a little.

Just a notch.

'Too late. I think I've just instantly dismissed myself. Hello, Mrs Curtis. How are you?'

'In a very good mood. Is Bruce glaring at you?' Florence chuckled. 'Don't worry. Put him on, I'll tell him not to sack you.'

'Bruce isn't here, I'm afraid.' (This is a lie; he wasn't afraid, he was glad.) 'He's at a trade fair in Birmingham. Shall I ask him to phone you when he gets back?'

'Don't worry, it's not important. I'll give him a ring this evening. So,' said Florence, 'how are _you_?'

'Oh, fine.' Another lie.

'Any customers in the shop?'

Puzzled, Max said, 'No.'

'Good. In that case, stop being polite and tell me how you are really.'

A lump sprang into Max's throat. These were the first words of genuine kindness he had heard in weeks. And they were coming from Bruce's mother, a woman about whom he may have heard a great deal – not all of it good – but whom he had never even met.

'How am I really?' He felt hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes. 'Not great.'

'I shouldn't imagine you are. Bruce told me the situation,' Florence said in her brisk, kindly way. 'Tricky to say the least. For other people too,' she went on. 'I mean, they must wonder which they're supposed to do when they see you, congratulate or commiserate.'

'I know.' Max sighed. 'I've got myself into a bit of a muddle.'

'So what's all this about instantly dismissing yourself?'

Florence didn't miss a trick, thought Max.

'I've just broken a china ornament.'

'Was it hideous?'

The pallid-faced country girl, minus her daffodil, gazed balefully up at him.

'Pretty hideous.'

'Probably a blessing then. Tell Bruce one of the customers did it.'

The lump in Max's throat threatened to expand.

'I don't think he'd believe me.'

'Is he trying to sack you?'

'I think so.' Max's voice began to wobble. 'Well, I can't really b-blame him.'

'How about that flat-hunting. Any joy yet?'

Joy, thought Max. When did I last have any joy?

His nose began to run with the effort of holding back a torrent of tears. Scrabbling in his pockets for a tissue, he mumbled, 'No . . . sorry, I've got a bit of a cold . . .'

Clamping his hand over the receiver just in time, Max let out a sob – an inelegant great honking sound like a grief-stricken goose. Tears slid down his face and dripped onto the bubble wrap on the counter.

'Max, are you still there?'

'A customer's just come in, I'll have to g-go.' Max stumbled over the words and hung up.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang again.

'Find yourself a pen, write this down,' Florence instructed him. 'Twenty-four Tredegar Gardings, Notting Hill.'

Max wondered what it was. The address of the Samaritans, probably.

'Got that?' Florence said briskly. 'Good. Come and see me after work.'

Max began to understand why Bruce called his mother a domineering old witch and a law unto herself.

'Um . . . actually, I've made appointments to view a couple of flats . . .'

'Come and see me after work,' Florence repeated. 'I'll expect you at six o'clock.'

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Yay! Max's just so adorable isn't he? Hope you enjoyed the little update on what Max is up to.

Next chapter: Max goes to see Florence, and someone unexpected turns up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there again! So I've got to say a quick sorry to those who don't particularly like the little side story with Max, but he's going to be tied in with the rest and I'd prefer to have his time during this mentioned as well. After all, he's a character too, you know? Well it's just the way I've planned this so unfortunately for you guys, it's going to continue.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Wheeling herself to the front door, Florence pulled it open. The man on the doorstep was coatless, shivering and soaked to the skin. With his long blonde hair plastered to his head, stuck-together eyelashes and blue cotton shirt clinging to every curve, he looked like a merman unceremoniously plucked from the sea.

'Mrs Curtis? Sorry I'm wet, it was sunny this morning so I didn't bother with a coat, I didn't think it was going to rain –'

'Even the weather's against you.' Reversing the chair, Florence waved him through. 'Come in, Max. And call me Florence, for goodness' sake.'

Florence set a great store by first impressions. It never took her more than a few minutes to decide whether or not she liked someone. She had done it with each of her husbands, and with Ray too, when the arthritis had worsened last year and she had been forced to advertise for a lodger-cum-helper.

Twenty-three uninspiring applicants later – when Florence had been on the verge of giving up hope – Ray had arrived. Apologising profusely for being late because he'd been so busy eavesdropping on the tube that he'd sailed right past his stop, he had promptly launched into the risqué joke he'd overheard.

They had taken to each other instantly. Florence, her life at the time being something of a joke-free zone, had offered him the flat practically on the spot. And Ray, with no family of his own – his parents having died in a car crash three-years earlier – had been entranced by Florence's bawdy, irreverent attitude to, well, pretty much everyone and everything. He had moved in the next day, thrilled to be there and amazingly eager to please, and had making Florence laugh – not always intentionally – ever since.

A cup of tea and twenty minutes in front of the fire, meanwhile, had done wonders for Max. His blonde hair was almost dry and the colour had returned to his cheeks.

He didn't look as though he was about to reel off a string of jokes, but given the circumstances, that was understandable.

'So you phoned your husband last night,' Florence prompted when Max paused halfway through the story.

'Humiliating, I know. But I was desperate.' Max's shoulders rose and fell. 'Not that it got me anywhere. Even if I did manage to drag him through the courts . . . well, that could take years.' Sadly he shook his head. 'Anyway, I'm not the dragging-through-the-courts type.'

This, Florence thought was more than likely what Bruce was banking on too.

Intercepting her thoughtful gaze, Max straightened his back and swept his hair away from his face.

'I know it seems pretty unlikely, looking at me now, but I do actually have some pride. If my husband's that desperate not to have any contact with us' – his hand touched his stomach in an unconsciously protective gesture – 'well, then I don't want his money. I'd rather do without it, manage by myself.'

The cobalt-blue eyes were clear, the set of his jaw determined. If he had been crying earlier – and Florence was pretty certain he had been – there was no sign of tears now.

Down but not out, Florence noted with approval. The spark had been well hidden, but was still there.

'You've worked for my son for over three years and he's sung your praises more times than I can remember. Don't worry about your job,' she told Max. 'I'll make sure he doesn't give you the sack.'

Max breathed out slowly. 'That's really kind. You don't know what a relief that is.' Sensing that the meeting was at an end, he glanced at his watch. Six thirty-five. He'd missed the first appointment, but id he hurried he could just about make the second.

'Where are you going?' Florence raised her eyebrows.

Reaching for his backpack and levering himself to his feet, Max said apologetically, 'Florence, I'm so grateful. But I hope you don't mid if I rush off. You see, I have to –'

'That isn't why I asked you to come here. I could have told you that on the phone. Oh well, you're up now,' Florence sighed, 'you may as well take a look before you go.'

Max was confused.

'Take a look at what?'

'You'll have to go up on your own.' Florence indicated her wheelchair. 'Top of the stairs, third door on the left.'

What was in there, Max wondered, Bruce's old cot?

'Okay. Um, what am I looking for?'

If it was a cot, he hoped Florence wasn't expecting him to take it away with him now – to tuck it under his arm perhaps, and lug it home on the bus.

'I'm asking you to look at the room, child.' Florence's tone was suddenly brusque. 'It's empty. If you want it, you can have it.'

* * *

'Honestly, it's terrifying, like being a double-agent!' Ray had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the vacuum cleaner as he belted around Florence's sitting room hovering up biscuit crumbs at a rate of knots. 'I keep telling myself I'll wait until Bev hasn't mentioned Hiro's name for a whole day. Then, when that happens, it'll mean she's over him and I'll be able to confess. But I'm beginning to wonder if it's ever going to happen. She talks about him practically nonstop. The only time she stops is to ask me how things are going with my new boyfriend. I'm telling you, it's fraught. One slip of the tongue and I'm dead.'

He was kneeling on the floor now, bottom in the air, energetically hovering under the sofa. Florence, from the safety of her chair, said, 'So what do you call him?'

'Nothing!' Leaning back on his heels and pushing his spiky fringe out of his eyes, Ray reached across and switched off the vacuum cleaner. 'Just "my boyfriend", or "my chap". Of course, Bev's convinced the reason I won't tell her his name is because he's called something awful, like Horace or Percy. Or Engelbert.'

'Wouldn't it be easier to _call_ him Engelbert?'

Ray gave her a measured look.

'No, it would not.'

It was seven thirty and Hiro – the boyfriend with no name – was due over at eight. Ray kept glancing compulsively at the clock on the mantelpiece.

'Go on, run upstairs and get ready.' Florence shooed him towards the door.

'What's this?' Bending down, Ray dug a blue hair band out from between the sofa cushions.

'I had a visitor this afternoon.' The hair band must have fallen out of Max's bag, Florence realised. 'I'll tell you about it later. You go and have a bath.'

* * *

The doorbell rang at seven forty-five. Mr Keen, thought Florence with amusement as she wheeled herself through the hall. From upstairs came the sound of Ray still splashing away happily in the bath.

'He's here,' Florence yelled up the staircase. 'Don't worry, I'll be gentle with him!'

Pulling open the front door, she came face to face with Ray's new boyfriend. Two-toned hair and dark brown eyes, Florence noted with approval; she had always gone for men with dark eyes herself. The clothes – old jeans and a faded black polo shirt – were something of a disappointment, a bit casual for a hot date in Florence's view, but that was young people today. Anyway, the body beneath the shabby clothes more than made up for it.

'Hello, come in, lovely to meet you at last.' He reminded her of someone; an actor, she guessed, from the telly. 'I've heard so much about you from Ray. He's in the bath, by the way, so I'll look after you until he's finished tarting himself up.'

'Oh, right.' He looked surprised but pleased. 'Fine by me. It's nice to meet you too.'

'Through here.' Reversing, Florence expertly guided him past her into the sitting room.

'You aren't going to run me over with your wheelchair, are you?' he said with a grin. 'Ray warned me you might.'

'Why would I want to run you over? Now, tell me what you'd like to drink. I've got a bottle of wine open, but there's beer in the fridge if you'd prefer.'

'Wine would be great. We'll try not to lose your glasses this time.'

'My glasses?' Florence wondered why he sounded so amused. She hadn't the faintest idea where her glasses were – buried at the back of a drawer somewhere, probably. 'To be honest, I never wear them. Too vain.'

When she turned around, Ray's boyfriend was giving her a slightly odd look.

'I meant the wine glasses you left behind on Parliament Hill.'

'Oh, those! Ray told you about that, did he?' Florence laughed, remembering their abrupt departure. 'Ha, that was a funny old day.'

'Actually –'

'So were are you taking him tonight?'

'Um, I think we've got some wires crossed here.'

Click click, went Florence's brain. She put down the bottle she was in the process of pouring and gazed steadily across at her visitor.

There was definitely something about those dark-brown eyes.

Click click click . . .

'Oh dear,' she exclaimed at last, 'you must think I'm completely dotty. You aren't Hiro, are you?'

He smiled.

'No, I'm not Hiro.'

Now Florence knew why he had seemed so familiar. He didn't resemble a television actor at all; he was someone she had seen before in the flesh.

Only fleetingly, mind you. And from a fair distance. Not to mention minus the spectacles she never wore but perhaps should think about wearing . . .

'You're Hungry and Homeless,' said Florence.

'Well, kind of. But you can call me Kai,' he replied with a grin.

He might not be who she thought he was, but Florence had already made up her mind. She liked him.

'So you aren't Ray's new boyfriend,' she announced, holding his glass out to him. 'Pity. Never mind, you can still have a drink.'

* * *

When Ray had heard the shrill ring of the doorbell earlier, his immediate instinct had been to leap out of the bath and race downstairs. Well, maybe throw on a few clothes first.

But Hiro was early, he hadn't even washed his hair yet and he'd been looking forward to this bath all day. Besides, Florence was there to entertain him.

Maybe I shouldn't rush down, Ray thought, sinking lazily back into the steaming, scented water. Let them have time alone together; that way, they can get to know each other in peace.

'Here he is,' Florence announced twenty minutes later. 'Darling, you look a treat.'

Having been encouraged by the explosions of laughter filtering up the stairs – Florence and Hiro were clearly getting on like a house on fire - Ray had taken his time getting ready. Now, completely thrown by the sight of the wrong two people getting along like a house on fire – well, right woman, wrong man – he ground to a halt in the doorway.

Was Jeremy Beadle responsible for this?

* * *

**Dolphin-san:** Yay! Kai's popped back in for a visit! I think I'll leave it there for today, so please review peoples! Ja Ne. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Dolphin-san:** Yay! Kai returned! Lol, back to the story.

**Chapter 20**

'Hello.' Ray looked at Kai Hiwatari, then at his watch, then at Florence. 'Where's Hiro?'

'Sshh.' Florence raised her eyebrows in alarm. 'Careless talk costs lives. Forget you heard that,' she instructed Kai. 'Ray's boyfriend is officially The Man With No Name. Honestly, darling,' she returned her attention to Ray, 'if you're going to be a secret agent, you'll have to do better than that.'

Ray took in at a glance the almost empty bottle of wine on the table, the relaxed way Kai Hiwatari's arm was draped across the back of the sofa, the barely suppressed grins on both their faces. Almost as if they were in league with each other.

'Where is he?'

Florence looked innocent.

'Who?'

'Hiro.'

'Sshh!'

'It'll never work.' Kai was shaking his head. 'You'll have to call him something else. How about Percy?'

They were definitely making fun of him. Ray sighed. And it was ten past eight, so where _was_ Hiro?

'We mustn't tease. Poor darling, he's only just met the boy,' said Florence. 'It's a traumatic business, this falling in love. No sign of him yet.' Airily she waved Ray over to the sofa. 'But don't worry, I'm sure he'll be here soon.'

Being ganged up on was bad enough. When it was coupled with the first niggling oh-God-don't-say-I'm-about-to-be-stood-up ripples of anxiety, the effect was horrible.

'What are you doing here anyway?' Ray knew he sounded irritated, but he didn't care. Hiro had never been late before. He wouldn't stand him up, surely?

Kai Hiwatari patted the space next to him on the sofa.

'I was passing; just dropped by on the off-chance. We need to fix up a couple of dates for filming. This week, if you could manage it.'

Pointedly, Ray perched on the arm of the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

'I'm busy this week. I can't take any time off work.'

'Okay, but we could interview you here. Thursday evening would be good for us.' He consulted his battered Filofax, then looked up. 'Actually, any chance of seeing your room now?'

Not a chance in the world, Ray thought with a shudder. His room was currently awash with all the clothes he had tried on, discarded and flung to the floor.

'No. And I'm busy on Thursday evening too,' Ray added for measure. Honestly, talk about impertinent. Did he look like someone with no social life at all?

'Seeing your boyfriend. You mean?' Kai glanced at his watch, his eyebrows registering dismay. 'Oh dear, twenty past.'

Ray gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt.

'Kai, your glass is empty,' Florence protested. 'Come on now, have another drink.'

The doorbell went before he could reply. Ray flew to answer it.

'You're here! You're late!'

'Accident on the Bayswater Road.'

'Oh _no_ . . .'

'Not me,' said Hiro. 'A bus and a Fiat Uno. The fire brigade are still trying to cut the driver out the Fiat.'

'That's alright then.' Ray threw his arms around Hiro. 'So long as you're okay.'

Smiling, Hiro said, 'Maybe I should be late more often, if this is the kind of welcome I get.'

'Don't you dare. I thought you'd stood me up.' Ray covered Hiro's face with kisses, breathless with relief. 'Come on, I want to introduce you to Florence.'

'Well? What d'you think?' said Ray eagerly ten minutes later. Kai Hiwatari had made his excuses and left, and before they followed suit, Hiro was paying a quick visit to the bathroom.

'I think you should ring Kai and say Thursday evening's fine. Playing the prima donna only works if you're Elizabeth Taylor,' Florence pointed out, 'and you haven't won any Oscars yet. They can always make this documentary without you, you know.'

'I meant, what do you think of Hiro?' Ray waved an impatient arm in the direction of the door. 'Do you really like him?'

'Oh. Well, yes, of course I like him. He seems quite . . . charming.' 'Quite' was a useful word. It could mean perfectly charming, or it could mean slightly charming. You could take your pick.

Oh dear. Florence struggled to be fair. Hiro did seem nice and he did seem charming; she just hadn't automatically clicked with him as she had with the other one, Kai. Out of the two of them, she knew which one she preferred.

But that was beside the point; Hiro was the one Ray wanted her to like, and how could she fault him? He was good-looking, smartly turned out, polite . . . and clearly as taken with Ray as Ray was with him.

And if the charm seemed a bit forced, a touch excessive . . . well, Florence conceded, he probably couldn't help that. It was undoubtedly an unfortunate side-effect of having worked for years selling insurance.

'He seems very nice,' she repeated, reaching for her cigarettes and swiftly changing the subject. 'Anyway, before you go, let me tell you about my visitor this afternoon.'

Ray hid his disappointment. He didn't want to hear about some boring visitor, he wanted Florence to sing Hiro's praises – with delirious enthusiasm, preferably – and tell him over and over again how _perfect_ Hiro was. So far, all he'd got was _very nice_, pronounced in the kind of voice adults reserved for five-year-olds when they were handed a painting – Is it a tractor? Is it an aeroplane? – to admire.

Swallowing his impatience, Ray forced himself to sound interested. He jiggled the loose shoe dangling from his foot and said, 'Visitor. Okay, fire away.'

'I asked Max to come round. Pregnant Max who works for Bruce,' Florence prompted when Ray looked blank.

'Oh, right.'

'He's had to give up his flat. The husband refuses to help out financially. He's a lovely boy.'

Just not very bright, thought Ray, if that was the kind of man he'd chosen to marry in the first place.

At a guess, Florence had slipped the boy some money.

'I told him he could move in with us.'

'What!'

'Not for ever,' Florence explained. 'Just until he sorts himself out.'

'But that could take years! He hasn't even had the baby yet.' Ray was alarmed. 'You mean you've offered him the room next to mine?'

Oh great, thanks a lot.

'He's desperate,' Florence said calmly.

'Honestly, and you call me a soft touch! All I did was share my sandwiches with a down-and-out,' Ray protested. Well, a bogus down-and-out. 'Here's you sharing your whole _house_.'

'It's big enough. Anyway,' said Florence, 'I get bored here on my own. I'll enjoy the company.'

'The company of a screaming baby?' Agitated, Ray jiggled the shoe right off his foot. 'It won't know how to play poker, if that's what you're after. And what about all the sleepless nights? You definitely won't enjoy those.'

'I'm sure Max would have found himself somewhere else to live by then. Like I said, this is only temporary.'

'Well, I still think you're mad.'

'Not mad, just bored. And look on the bright side,' Florence said cheerfully. 'It'll annoy Bruce and Verity no end.'

Bruce and Verity weren't the only one's. Ray was relieved to hear Hiro's footsteps on the stairs.

'You aren't thrilled,' said Florence as Hiro appeared in the doorway. 'I'm sorry, darling. Maybe I should have asked you first.'

She sounded disappointed. Ray chewed his lip as guilt kicked in. It really wasn't like him to be so uncharitable.

Oh, all right, so selfish and stroppy and mean.

This was Florence's house after all. She could fill it with whoever she liked.

'Don't worry, its fine by me.' Ray turned to Hiro. 'Florence is collecting waifs and strays,' he explained. 'We're going to be having a homeless pregnant guy moving in.'

'Better you than me,' said Hiro. He jangled his car keys, impatient to leave; pregnant men weren't his favourite topic of conversation.

'The thing is, the room's going to need redecorating.' Florence looked at Ray. 'I wondered if you wouldn't mind giving it a coat of paint before he moves in.'

'No problem.' Ray nodded vigorously, eager to make up for his grumpiness earlier. He touched Hiro's sleeve. 'We could do it on Sunday, couldn't we? Make it look really nice.'

'I'd love to,' Hiro lied, 'but I'll be pretty busy myself this weekend. I'm moving too, remember.' Clasping Ray's hand, Hiro pulled him to his feet. 'Right , we'd better be off. Nice meeting you,' he added, flicking back his hair and smiling broadly over his shoulder at Florence.

'Oh, and you.'

'I feel a bit rotten,' Ray murmured, out in the hall. 'I wasn't very nice when Florence told me about this guy moving in.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'Still,' Ray paused, half in and half out of his jacket. 'It might be fun. Babies can be cute, can't they?'

'Do you mind if we change the subject?' said Hiro, opening the front door. 'You're beginning to sound like Bev.'

'Max's doing what?' Bruce pressed the phone to his ear and gestured furiously at his son to lower the volume on his PlayStation. 'Mother, hang on – I can't hear a word. Jason, for crying out loud, turn it _down_. Now, Max's doing what?'

'Moving in with me,' Florence repeated with maddening cheerfulness. 'Isn't it the most marvellous idea? Killing two birds with one stone!'

I should be so lucky, thought Bruce. Anger began to well up in his chest. O h, this was too much.

'I don't see what's so marvellous about it.' His voice was cold. 'I don't see why you have to interfere with matters that have absolutely nothing to do with you. For heaven's sake, mother, you don't even know Max!'

'I do now. He came to see me last night.'

'He came to _see_ you?' Bruce spluttered. 'You mean he - ?'

'Don't get your knickers in a twist,' Florence interrupted. 'I asked him to. Max needs somewhere to live and I have room to spare. I don't understand why you're shouting at me, Bruce.' I thought you'd be pleased.'

Bruce's mind was in such turmoil that for a couple of seconds he couldn't remember why he wasn't. Then it came to him; he was planning to sack Max.

Soon.

He exhaled slowly. Once you'd sacked an employee, it was easier all round if you never had to clap eyes on them again. If Max was going to be living with _his_ mother, that wasn't going to happen.

It would, in fact, be bloody awkward.

Knowing Florence, Bruce thought darkly, that was more than likely why she'd done it.

For this reason alone, he forced himself to calm down.

'Okay, I can see why it helps Max out. But what's in it for you?'

'I'll be getting myself a house-sitter,' Florence replied chirpily. 'Now that Ray's found himself a young man, he's not going to be around often. All the hanky-panky, I imagine, will be taking place over at his man's flat. And I'm going to be away a fair bit myself of course . . . did I tell you that Orlando and I are thinking about Vegas? . . . so it makes sense to have someone here, taking care of the house.'

Las Vegas.

Bruce shuddered.

Twenty-four-hours-a-day gambling _and _a gigolo on your arm.

This was truly a nightmare. Florence had lost her marbles and she was planning – _gleefully_, dammit – to lose all her money to.

'Mother, I'm not sure Vegas is a good idea.'

'Why not, too many wedding chapels?' Florence teased. 'Don't worry, darling, Orlando's already asked me and I turned him down.'

Thank Christ for that, thought Bruce. His hands were slippery with sweat.

'I have no desire to be married by a crooning Elvis lookalike in a white crimplene jumpsuit,' Florence went on consolingly. 'I told Orlando straight. If we decide to get married, we'll do it in England, with a real vicar and in a proper church.'

**Dolphin-san:** sigh I just adore Florence. She's just the best old batty woman that anyone would want for a grandmother, right? Unlike Jason. But anyway, bit close there wasn't it? With Hiro in the house when they were talking about Max? Ha.

Until next time. Ja ne.


	21. Chapter 21

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there, sorry for the wait, but I've had a lot going on at school lately. I've had three bloody section tests this last week! Thank God for the holiday.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Chapter 21**

Hiro's new flat, in Maida Vale, was situated on the third floor of a modern apartment block set in landscaped gardens. The flat itself was small but adequate, and had been recently redecorated in shades of creams and greens that were only faintly reminiscent of municipal toilets.

'This is great, I _love_ it,' Ray enthused as he was given the full guided tour. It wasn't strictly true, he much preferred old buildings to new ones, but what else could you say when someone was proudly showing you around their new home?

And this was Hiro's new home, so Ray would grow to love it.

'Really?' Hiro put his arm around Ray. 'I know it's not huge, but it has its advantages. No Adrian for a start.'

Ray kissed him. Adrian meant well, but privacy – or rather lack of it – had been an increasing problem recently. The other evening, back at Adrian's house, things had been progressing nicely in a bedroom direction when Adrian had arrived home unexpectedly with a crowd of his friends from the pub. Discovering Hiro and Ray sitting bolt upright on the sofa, taking in at a glance Ray's pink cheeks and wrongly done-up shirt, he had waved a four-pack of lagers and yelled, 'Oops, coitus interruptus! Hey, don't mind us, feel free to carry on. We were going to watch the football but we can always watch you two instead.'

Ray blushed just thinking about it. Oh yes, the prospect of total privacy had a lot going for it.



'No Adrian,' Ray agreed happily, 'just us.' He kissed Hiro again, sliding his hands longingly under his rugby shirt. 'I don't think I've seen the bedroom yet.'

Hiro stroked Ray's hair.

'We're going to do this properly. There's no rush, we've got all the time in the world. Look, it's only seven o'clock,' Hiro showed Ray his watch, 'and you've been at work all day. You must be starving. I thought we'd go out and get something to eat first. Then, when we come back . . . well, you can see the bedroom.' Hiro grinned. 'It's Sunday tomorrow, no need to get up. If we want to, we can spend the whole day in bed. And I think I should warn you now, I'll definitely want to.'

'Except I promised Florence I'd decorate that room,' groaned Ray.

'Put it off.'

'I can't. She had the paint delivered today.'

'I thought you said this guy wasn't moving in for another week.'

'He isn't, but Florence really wants the room done tomorrow. Otherwise the smell of paint will still –'

'Don't let her boss you around,' Hiro interrupted impatiently. 'She can't _make_ you do it. What is she, some kind of slave-driver? Just tell her tomorrow isn't convenient.'

'Florence isn't a slave driver, she just wants the job finished. And I promised I'd do it. I don't want to let her down.'

Hiro frowned, not bothering to conceal his irritation.

'I wanted us to spend the day together.'

'But we can!'

'In bed,' Hiro said pointedly. 'Not painting bloody walls.'

There was a horrible silence.

'Oh God,' Ray wailed suddenly. 'We're having our first argument. Today of all days!'

Hiro's expression softened at once.

'No we aren't.'

'I'm sorry!'

'Don't be.' Hiro didn't want to argue either. 'I'm disappointed, that's all. I wanted our first day in the flat to be special.' Taking Ray's face between his hands, Hiro slowly kissed him. 'You don't know how much I've looked forward to this.'

'I'm not hungry,' Ray murmured against Hiro's warm mouth. 'I don't want to go out to dinner.'

Hiro, who was starving, said, 'We can order something later.'

'Do you hate me?'

'No.' Hiro's lips brushed Ray's neck. 'I love you.'

It was true. He hadn't meant to meet someone so soon after Max, but it had happened. He had found Ray and he didn't want to lose him.

Hiro felt Ray shudder in his arms.

'You do?'

'I do.'

Ray closed his eyes. This had been definitely worth waiting for. And to think that he had tried to get out of Elizabeth Turnbull's hideous fund-raising party. He had only gone in the end because Florence had insisted and he'd thought it might turn up a marriage-minded man, with I-love-Mothercare signs in his eyes, for Bev.

'We don't have to wait until later, do we?' Ray's embarrassingly out-of-practice fingers fumbled with the top button of Hiro's jeans. 'I think I'd like to see the bedroom now.'

'We've waited this long,' Hiro teased. 'Are you sure you wouldn't rather leave it until next weekend?'

Ray unfastened a couple more buttons. They were in the hallway now, and he was easing Hiro in the direction of the closed door that hadn't yet been opened.

'Oh, I'm sure.'

His hand landed on the door handle. The door opened and he began to reel Hiro inside.

Oops.

A lot of clattering ensued.

'Junk cupboard,' Hiro murmured, pulling Ray out again. 'Wrong door.'

'I bet Mata Hari never had problems like this. She didn't have Adrian and his friends to deal with, either.' Ray unfastened the final button on Hiro's jeans. He leaned on the handle of the last door, nudging it open with his hip. 'They aren't in here, are they?'

'Better not be,' said Hiro.

Reeling back home at eight o'clock the next morning, light-headed from lack of sleep, Ray only hoped he didn't look as bow-legged as he felt.

Oh, what a blissful night.

'No need to ask if you enjoyed yourself,' said Florence with her customary lack of discretion. Her eyes bright with laughter, she handed Ray a mug of strong coffee. 'Go anywhere nice?'

Ray tried hard to look demure.

'Just a quiet evening in.'

'Not too quiet, I hope. That's the problem with these modern flats, the walls are so thin you can't unscrew a bottle of aspirin without the neighbours asking if your headache's better.'

Demure clearly wasn't working. Ray slurped his coffee and grinned.

'I didn't have a headache last night.'

'You had a couple of phone calls.' Expertly reversing her chair, Florence reached for the message pad. 'Your friend Bev rang, wondering what you're up to today. Said she might pop over later and give you a hand.'

Ray didn't get his hopes up; Bev's hands were too perfectly manicured to be of any practical use. Sunday was traditionally Bev's day to be at a bit of a loose end, that was all. Bev's idea of being helpful would be lounging about gossiping and every so often pointing at a hard-to-reach corner and saying knowledgeably, 'Missed a bit.'

'Okay. Who else rang?'

'Kai Hiwatari.' Florence held the pad at arms length in an attempt to bring the scribbled message into some kind of focus. 'He has to fly to New York tomorrow, so he wondered if you could do the interview this afternoon.'

'Dangling from a step-ladder, with a paint brush clenched between my teeth? Oh yes, lovely.' About to roll his eyes, Ray shot her a suspicious look. 'I hope you said no.'

'I did not, I said it would be fine.' Florence was unrepentant. 'Today's the only time they can manage it and you've out them off twice already. Anyway, I told them to come over at five, so you should be finished by then.'

'_Five_? But I've already arranged to meet Hiro at six!' Honestly, this was so unfair. Was Kai Hiwatari's mission in life to spoil all his fun?

'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.' Florence shrugged with irritating lack of concern. 'Ring him, tell him you'll see him at eight.'

'Missed a bit,' said Bev, too busy flipping through one of the Sunday supplements to even point an acrylic false nail in the appropriate direction. Instead, she wriggled her eyebrows and nodded at a remote section of wall high above the door frame. 'See? It's gone all blotchy.'

'It's all going blotchy,' Ray grumbled. He leaned back on his ladder, rubbing his aching spine. 'I'm going to have to do two coats.'

'There's a piece here about the best places to go to meet men.' Bev sat up on the dust-sheet-covered bed, sending half a dozen _Sunday Times_ sections slithering to the floor. 'It says health farms are good.' She looked up, interested. 'I've never been to a health farm.'

'The only men you'd meet there would be overweight, stressed-out business men who've been warned by their doctors that if they don't lose six stone they'll be dead by Christmas.' Ray blinked as a spray of crocus-yellow emulsion ricocheted off the roller into his eyes. 'And they'd all be going cold turkey because they'd had their mobile phones and laptops confiscated.'

'True,' sighed Bev. 'I can't bear men who twitch.' She read on down the list. 'How about car maintenance?'

'Full of women desperate to meet men,' Ray said briskly. 'And no real man would ever go because it would be too unmacho for words.'

'Kite flying!' Bev exclaimed, jabbing the page. 'That's how you met thingy! Well, it certainly worked for you.'

Ray tried to imagine Bev, in her high heels, teetering up Parliament Hill, struggling to keep her hair in place with one hand and clinging for dear life to the handle of a somersaulting kite with the other.

Still, Thingy was a good name for Kai Hiwatari.

'I didn't so much meet him,' Ray protested, 'as hurl abuse at him.'

'I could hurl abuse.' Bev looked indignant. 'I'm great at that. I haven't always worked at Takao's place, you know. I was once a doctor's receptionist.'

Splat, a dollop of paint slid off the end of Ray's roller and landed on the top of his head. This was worse than being dive-bombed by pigeons in Trafalgar Square.



Only yellower.

'My legs ache, my arms ache, my back aches.'

'Oh, stop being so neurotic. Take a couple of painkillers and stop moaning. You can't see the doctor until a week on Tuesday and that's final.'

Amazed, Ray swung round.

'What?'

'That's me being a doctor's receptionist.' Bev was smug. 'Told you I was good.'

'But I _do_ ache.'

'I don't see why. You've only done half a ceiling and one wall.'

And spent most of the night having rampant, muscle-wrenching nonstop sex, thought Ray semi-guiltily. Still, better not mention that.

'I thought you came here to help me.' He tried a spot of wheedling.

'I am helping you, I'm keeping you company.'

Great.

'You could keep me company up this ladder.'



'I get dizzy on ladders. And I'm allergic to paint.' Cosily, Bev snuggled up with the _News of the World_. 'If I got any on me I'd go as blotchy as your wall.'

'I wouldn't mind.'

'I would. Anyway, I'm doing my bit later, aren't I? Making you look presentable for the TV cameras.'

As soon as Bev had heard that Kai Hiwatari was coming round, she had instantly volunteered to make Ray look good.

'Nothing outrageous,' Ray warned her now. 'A bit of eyeshadow, a bit of mouse in my hair, that's all. Not too much foundation.'

Especially the last; Bev had a tendency to get a bit carried away when it came to foundation.

'Don't panic, you'll look great.' Leaning over, Bev smugly patted her handbag, bulging with every hair and face cosmetic known to Harrods Beauty Hall.

'Okay, but easy on the foundation.'

'Believe me,' Bev's tone was soothing, 'right now you need all the help you can get.'

'You're not my friend.'

'I am your friend, I'm just being honest.'

'If you were really my friend,' Ray said sorrowfully, 'you'd get off your big lazy bum and make me a chocolate spread sandwich and a banana milkshake.'

Ray was jabbing paint into a corner of plaster coving when the door swung open behind him. He heard the satisfying clunk of china against glass.

'I take it all back, Bev, you don't have a big lazy bum, and you're definitely my friend.

'That's really kind,' said an unfamiliar, male, voice, 'but actually, I'm not Bev.'

Ray let out a snort of laughter and swung round. Blonde, pretty, curvy, loose shirt over stretchy trousers . . .

'Max, right?'

'Right.' Max grinned and held up the plate. 'Chocolate spread sandwich, right?'

'Hooray. Coming right down.' Ray dropped the brush messily into the pot of paint and leapt off the ladder. 'I'm Ray, by the way.'

'I guessed.'

'I'd shake hands, but I'm all painty.'

'I spoke to Florence on the phone earlier,' Max explained. 'She told me what you were doing. I've come to help.'

'Oh no, I couldn't let you do that!' Ray gestured vaguely in the direction of Max's stomach.

'I'm pregnant, not paralysed from the chest down. This is a great colour.' Having briefly admired the repainted wall, Max began to climb the ladder. 'Go on, have a rest. Eat your sandwich and drink your milkshake.'

Enchanted by this order and all in favour of a spot of cosseting, Ray grinned at Max.

'You sound like a father already.'

**Dolphin-san:** Wee! Max meets Ray, so fun. Mm, I love banana milkshakes. Happy Easter, everyone!


	22. Chapter 22

**Dolphin-san: **I just love the holidays. They give me plenty of time to write, write, write! And study I guess, but I think writings much more important than that. I know the stuff already, why would I want to _revise_ it? Oh well. Enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter 22**

By one o'clock the second wall and the rest of the ceiling were finished and Bev had read aloud an entire two-thousand-word article in the _Sunday Express_ speculating the likelihood of Bryan Kutsenov and Daisy Schofield marrying before Christmas.

'She's dead set on it and he's fending her off.' Bev held up the colour supplement so they could see the accompanying photograph. 'Ray met him a few weeks ago,' she explained slyly to Max. 'Bryan asked him out, Ray turned him down and he's regretted it from that day to this.'

'Oh, no.' Max was sympathetic.

'Ignore her,' Ray said loftily. 'I haven't regretted it for one minute. I'm perfectly happy with the way things have turned out.'

'Just as well,' Bev picked up her pen and gave Daisy Schofield a handlebar moustache, 'seeing as you haven't heard from Bryan Kutsenov since.' She studied the photograph with a critical eye. 'I don't think she's that stunning, you know. Is it just me, or does she have a lopsided face?'

'Only because you gave her a lopsided moustache,' Ray pointed out.

'My husband . . . well, ex-husband, whatever . . .' stammered Max, 'thought she was pretty stunning.'

Ray, thinking of Hiro, drawled, 'Show me a man who doesn't.'



'So how long ago did he leave you?' asked Bev, for whom no situation was too delicate.

'The day I told him I was pregnant, pretty much. It was April Fools' Day.' Max's tone was dry.

'Can you believe that? What a bastard!' Bev made vigorous poke-his-eyes-out gestures with her fingers. 'And what's he doing now?'

'Don't know, don't care,' Max replied not altogether truthfully. Trawling his roller through the paint tray, he turned his attention to the third wall.

'But up until the minute you told him about the baby,' Bev persisted, 'you were happily married?'

Max nodded.

'Yes.'

'Is he likely to change his mind and come back?'

'No.'

'Has he found someone else?'

'Bev, shut up.' This was more than even Ray could stand.

'Why? It's interesting!'

'Max might not want to talk about it. He might find it upsetting. You could be about to make him cry.'



'Okay,' Max said equably. 'I think he does have a new boyfriend. But you're right, I would rather not talk about him any more.'

'See?' Delighted with himself for being so sensitive, Ray flicked his brush at Bev.

'Not because it would upset me,' Max explained. 'I just don't want to be bothered by thinking about him. If he doesn't want to know, that's his loss. But _this_' –he gestured around the half-painted room – 'is going to be my new home, and _I_' – he pointed to his stomach – 'am going to have a baby. And right now,' he announced firmly, 'that is all I care about.'

Heavens, so strong and brave, thought Bev, just like one of those Danielle Steel heroines you secretly long to punch in the teeth. She gazed at Max, impressed.

Ray, who had never read a Danielle Steel book and was altogether less gullible, said, 'So how much of that was bullshit? Seventy-five, eighty per cent?'

'Pretty much,' Max admitted with a grin of relief. 'Still, getting better. A fortnight ago it was ninety.'

Ray spent the next hour washing and blow-drying his hair, getting it styled into a less spiky and altogether more grown-up style and getting his make-up done.

'I'm sorry, we've come to the wrong house,' Kai Hiwatari apologised when Ray pulled open the front door.

'Oh, ha ha.' Why did Kai always have to make fun of him? 'Bev did my face for me. It's okay, isn't it?'

'The face is fine.' Kai took a step back in order to admire Ray's outfit, top to toe. 'It's the rest of you that's taken me by surprise. I'm just trying to think who you remind me of.'

Somebody nice, I hope, thought Ray.

'Got it.'

Some gorgeous, bright-eyed perky young actor, preferably. The kind everybody fancied.

'Joseph Chamberlain,' Kai announced, pleased with himself. He turned to the man behind him. 'Don't you think?'

'Minus about sixty years.' Kai's companion stepped forward, holding his hand out for Ray to shake. 'Hi, anyway. Tony Vale. I'll be pointing the camera at you this afternoon.'

'This time I've definitely got it! He looks like a teenager going to a fancy-dress party _as_ Joseph Chamberlain.' Kai grinned at Ray. 'Is that your going-for-an-interview suit?'

Ray ran his hands protectively over the navy-blue trousers. However had he guessed?

'Um . . .'

'Have to take it off, I'm afraid.'

Ray bit his lip.

'You mean, actually while you're filming?'

'That's entirely up to you.' Cheerfully Kai lugged a heavy tripod past Ray into the hall. 'We wouldn't force you.'

'We're in here.' Ray led the way through to Florence's living room. 'I'm not sure about this nude stuff, though.' He sounded doubtful. 'I mean, is it absolutely essential for the script?'

'Nude stuff! What the hell's going on here?' Bev leapt up, outraged.

'This is Bev,' said Ray, as Florence and Max started to laugh. 'Told you she was gullible.'

The filming, once Ray had changed out of the terrifying navy suit into his favourite shirt and white jeans, took less than an hour. Kai's interviewing style was very informal, which helped a lot, and Tony Vale organised the lighting and the camera positions and generally made himself as unobtrusive as possible in the unnaturally tidy bedroom. Before Ray knew it, Kai was saying, 'That's great, now lets shift this stuff downstairs,' and Tony was scurrying out through Ray's bedroom door with the light reflectors tucked under one arm and the camera cases swinging from the other.

'Er . . . why?' asked Ray.'

'Your landlady. Great character,' Tony called over his shoulder.

'Ten minutes, if that,' Kai explained. 'She's just going to say a few nice things about you. Well, that's the general idea, but I suppose with Florence you never know.'

'She'd better say nice things.' Ray held the door open so Kai could manoeuvre the tripod through. 'Or I'll twist her arms off.'

'Florence, you're a natural,' said Kai when it was over.

'A disgrace you mean.' Ray shot Florence an accusing look. 'She was flirting with the camera.'

Florence's grey eyes sparkled. Thanks to the attentions of Bev, her make-up was immaculate and, for once, symmetrical.



'Why not? You never know who night be watching.' She spread her gnarled fingers, palms upturned. 'Just think, there could be some lonely Texan billionaire out there, desperate to find someone to keep him company in his rich old age . . . then he switches on the TV one day and _boom_, one look at me and he's smitten –'

'I think that's a bit greedy,' said Ray. 'You've already got Orlando.'

Kia looked interested.

'Who's Orlando?'

'Clear the table,' Max shouted, emerging from the kitchen with two massive plates of sandwiches. Bev, behind him, staggered in with the wine.

'We're having a wrap party to celebrate the end of the filming.' Florence eyed with amusement the front of Bev's flimsy white top, transparent where the condensation from the chilled bottles had sunk in. 'Or we could make it a wet T-shirt contest, if you'd prefer.'

The phone rang just as Ray was shovelling an asparagus sandwich into his mouth.

'Shall I get it?' offered Max, who was nearest.

'Don't worry.' Florence reversed like Damon Hill through the gap between the coffee table and the sofa and snatched it up. 'Probably Bruce, ringing to make sure I haven't eloped.'

She listened for a moment, then waggled the phone at Ray, who still had his mouth full.

Chew chew, swallow swallow.

'Who is it?'

Florence smirked, relishing the moment.

'He didn't give his name.'

'What's going on?' said Hiro when Ray had seized control of the receiver. 'Sounds like you're having a party.'

'Oh, hi.' Ray couldn't help it; he felt himself going bright pink.

'Who is it, your new chap? Tell him to come on over!' Bev turned excitedly to Florence. 'He's been keeping this one under wraps, it's all _deeply_ mysterious. I haven't even been allowed to meet him yet!'

'I thought you were decorating a bedroom,' Hiro protested as Kai pushed a glass into Ray's hand. As he filled it, the neck of the bottle went clunk against the rim.

'I was! I have! Florence's new lodger turned up and helped me finish it in double-quick time. Then Kai and Tony arrived, we've done a bit of filming –'

'Shall I come over?' Hiro wasn't at all sure he trusted this Kai Hiwatari.

'Tell him to come over here this _minute_,' Bev bellowed across the room.

Ray jumped, then hesitated. Should he? It had to happen sooner or later . . .

'Did you hear that?' he said lightly into the phone. 'My friend Bev's here as well. Why don't you come over? She's dying to meet you.'

'Jesus, no thanks.' Hiro sounded horrified. 'You haven't told her, have you?'

Ray knew what he was thinking: a potential bunny-boiler on his case, that was all he needed.

'Not yet, but –'

'Just say I'm busy.' Ray could almost hear Hiro shudder. 'And you, watch yourself with that Kai character. Better still, fix him up with Bev,' he declared with satisfaction. 'That should do the trick; those two deserve each other.'

Now there was an idea. Ray gave it some thought as he hung up. Then, still lit up with happiness just from hearing Hiro's voice, he grinned inanely across the room at Kai.

Making his way over, Kai studied Ray's mouth with apparent concern.

'Why the dopey smirk?'

'It isn't a smirk. I never smirk. It isn't dopey either. I just wondered, do you have someone waiting for you at home?'

Kai topped up Ray's glass.

'Why, are you offering? All applications for the post in writing, please. Just send a copy of your CV and a brief letter outlining why you feel you'd be the best person for the job. If you make the short list, you'll be invited to attend an interview –'

'So is that a yes or a no?' interrupted Ray. Behind Kai, Bev was chatting to Tony Vale, but in a half-hearted fashion. Probably because he was in his forties, on the scrawny side, and had already told her all about his wonderful wife.

'It's a no.' Kai's mouth twitched. 'And if you don't mind me saying s. I think it's very brave of you to take the initiative like this.' He consulted his watch. 'Look, I have to be at Heathrow by six tomorrow 

morning so I can't stay out too late, but we could have dinner somewhere if you like. I 'm afraid I don't sleep with people on a first date, but I'll only be away for a few days, so play your cards right –'

'Honestly, are you ever serious? I was thinking of Bev!'

'Excuse me,' said Kai, 'are _you_ being serious? Is this baby-making, desperate-for-a-man Bev we're talking about?'

Bugger, thought Ray, who had forgotten he'd told Kai about that. It was like trying to sell someone pleurisy.

'What?' Bev demanded, popping up behind Kai right on cue. 'Who mentioned babies?'

Ray sighed. Honestly, she did herself no favours.

'Jelly babies,' Kai told Bev. 'I was just saying, the green ones are my favourite.'

'Mines orange. So, is he coming over?'

'Who?' said Ray.

'Your chap!'

'He can't make it. He has . . . stuff to do.'

'Oh well, never mind. Time I was making a move anyway.' Sunday night was leg-waxing night for Bev. She beamed at Kai. 'Still, it's been fun, hasn't it?'

Florence wheeled over to them.

'I've been looking at this one here.' As she addressed Ray, she patted Kai's arm. 'Imagine him with his hair slicked back. Wouldn't he make a marvellous Orlando?'

'What's going on here?' Kai's dark eyes narrowed. 'That's the second time I've heard the name. Who _is_ this Orlando?'

'Hi, it's me again,' said Ray, grinning at Max as Hiro picked up the phone. 'The coast's clear. Bev just left. It's safe to come over.'

Across the room, Max rolled his eyes like a mad man and said teasingly, 'Well, relatively safe.'

'I'll be there in twenty minutes,' said Hiro.

**Dolphin-san:** Laughs Florence is such a flirt! It's getting close now, isn't it? Hiro's on his way over and Max is there, and Ray's none the wiser! You'll just have to wait and see what happens! The next chapter shouldn't take long, like I said, being on holiday gives me a chance to let my creative side out!

Ja Ne .


	23. Chapter 23

**Dolphin-san:** Hey everyone. It's me with another chapter. Will Hiro be found out, or will he be spared?

**Chapter 23**

'You'll really do it?' Florence was delighted. 'You'll be Orlando's for an evening?'

'Why not? I've always wanted to be a gigolo.'

Kai grinned; the idea appealed to his journalistic instincts. Human reactions were what interested him more than anything. Particularly the meaner ones.

'You won't be able to wear those clothes,' Ray pointed out.

'Look, who's the master of disguise here,' said Kai, 'you or me?'

'Couple of gold chains around your neck,' Florence prompted.

'Shiny shirt,' said Max.

'Skin-tight trousers, pointy patent-leather shoes. With heels,' Ray added with relish.

'This isn't _Saturday Night Fever_,' said Kai.

'He's right, he mustn't be cheap and slimy,' Max told Ray. 'Bruce and Verity wouldn't fall for it. They know Florence would never go for someone like that.'



'Okay, good clothes.' Reluctantly, because cheap and slimy would have been more fun, Ray began ticking each item off on his fingers. 'You'll have to borrow an Armani suit or something.'

'Thanks.' Kai exchanged a look with Florence.

'One gold chain,' said Max. 'One's enough.'

'Bit of fake tan,' said Ray. 'Ooh, and a diamond ring on your little finger! You can tell them it was a gift from your last friend.'

'Go on then,' Kai gave Ray an encouraging nod, 'lend us twenty grand.'

'Cubic zirconium,' Max said promptly. 'Argos catalogue. Let me know your size,' he told Kai, 'and I'll pick one up.'

Ray wrinkled his nose.

'They still cost money.'

'You take it back to the shop and get a refund,' Max explained. He was loving every minute of this. 'When are you going to do it?'

Next weekend?' Florence looked at Kai. 'Is that okay with you?'

'Fine. You sort out the details and I'll speak to you when I get back from the States.' Kai looked up. 'And now, I'd better make a move.'

When Tony Vale had left earlier, he had shaken hands – somewhat sweatily – with each of them in turn. Now, Ray watched Kai bend and give Florence a kiss on the cheek, before moving around the table and doing the same to Max. Having mentally prepared himself – after all, he was next in line – Ray was miffed when he left it at that. All he received was a wink and a broad smile.

Ray's toes clenched with irritation. What had the wink been, some kind of consolation prize? Even more embarrassing, he'd been tilting his head at an about-to-be-kissed angle, and now he had to pretend he'd simply been streaching his neck.

Men! Honestly, how pathetic were they? Kai Hiwatari was happy enough to bestow meaningless kisses on wrinkled old women – sorry, Florence – and guys who were pregnant, but when it came to real guys, guys like himself, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was intimidated by the fact that Ray had a boyfriend. Scared, probably, that Hiro – who was due to arrive at any minute – would burst through the door and challenge him to a duel.

'Is your neck okay?' said Kai.

Wimp.

'Just pulled a muscle.' Ray carried on massaging vigorously, to prove that he hadn't been expecting any kind of kiss in the first place.

As he hoisted the camera case over his shoulder, Kai turned back to Max.

'I can give you a lift home if you like.'

'Are you sure? Oh no,' Max protested, 'I'm miles out of your way.'

'No problem.' Kai glanced with amusement in Ray's direction. 'I don't have someone at home, you see. So plenty of free time.'

Kai was making fun of him _again_, Ray realised, and bloody annoying it was too. Anyway, why was he offering Max a lift home? He didn't fancy him, did he? Okay, so Max was a pretty guy, you couldn't argue with that, but oh dear, a pretty guy who was three months pregnant . . . ?

'I enjoyed that,' said Florence, watching from the window as Kai held open the passenger door of the green BMW.

With an odd sense of unease, Ray saw him say something that made Max laugh. Ray tried to remember whether Kai had held the passenger door open like a gentleman when he had given him a lift home that time from the salon, or if he had simply jumped into the driver's seat and shouted, 'It's open.' Which, let's face it, was pretty much par for course these days in his experience. When men clapped eyes on him, Ray realised sadly, their initial reaction wasn't to come over all exquisitely mannered, start tipping their hats and calling him Sir.

Maybe it was something to do with him having odd coloured hair.

I could dye it, thought Ray, and stop being accident-prone –

'They get on well together,' Florence declared with satisfaction as the car pulled away.

Max had swivelled round to wave up at them. Automatically Ray waved back. Then he turned and frowned at Florence.

'Yes, but it's hardly ideal, is it?'

'What?'

'You, matchmaking! Why would Kai want to be lumbered with somebody else's baby?' Ray began to hyperventilate; he flapped his hand indignantly out of the window. 'And why would Max want to get involved with anyone _at all_? Its not fair on either of them, in fact it's –'

He stopped abruptly. Florence was spluttering with laughter.



'Come on! Did I just offer to pay for their honeymoon? They get on well together, that's all I said. Where's the matchmaking in that?'

Oh dear, he'd overreacted. Biting his lip, Ray paid elaborate attention to the BMW as it disappeared from view.

'It was more the look in your eye,' he said defensively. 'I know what you're like when you hit on an idea.'

'Hit on a great one this evening, didn't I?' Florence gave him a nudge. 'Asking Kai to go gigolo for a night. Roll on next weekend,' she chuckled. 'I can't wait.'

Ray spirits lifted at the sight of Hiro's car drawing up outside. As Kai and Max had been disappearing around one corner, Hiro had been making his approach from the other end of the street. Like a relay race, Ray thought, only without a baton.

Or synchronised swimming minus the nose-clips.

'I'll just get my stuff,' he told Florence, jumping down from the window seat.

'Staying over at his place tonight?'

'Is that okay?' Ray hesitated. 'If there's anything you need me to do before I go . . .'

Florence looked at him, so eager to get away. It was stupid, she knew, but she felt like a mother bird watching her chick prepare to launch itself from the nest. In the year she and Ray had lived together they had grown so close, it was hard to come to terms with the possibility that, for Ray, the time had come to move on.

I should be thrilled for him, thought Florence. He's falling in love, maybe for the first time in his life. I should be happier than this.

Oh, but if only Ray could have chosen someone else to fall in love with.

'I'll be fine,' she announced robustly. This was ridiculous, a severe case of empty nest syndrome and she wasn't even the boy's mother.

I'm not going to have an empty nest either, Florence reminded herself. Ray hasn't left yet. And when he does, I'll still have Max.

'Party over?' asked Hiro when Ray greeted him at the front door with his overnight bag – otherwise known as an Asda carrier – clutched to his chest.

'I thought we'd have another one, back at your place.'

'Was that Kai Hiwatari's car I saw leaving just now? Are you sure he isn't a bit keen on you?'

'If he's keen on anyone, it's Florence's new lodger.' Ray wondered why the idea still rankled. Determinedly he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

'I thought he wasn't moving in for another week or so.'

Reaching up on his toes, Ray kissed Hiro full on the mouth. The last people he felt like talking about right now were Kai Hiwatari and pretty blonde pregnant Max.

'He isn't.'

'So why was he here today?'



Hiro didn't really want to know, he was just being polite.

'Came to lend a hand with the painting, that's all. Now, can I ask you something personal?'

They reached the car. Hiro leaned Ray backwards across the still-warm bonnet and ran his fingers across Ray's exposed midriff.

'How personal?'

'Extremely, deeply and outrageously personal.'

Hiro hesitated for a fraction of a second.

'Go on then.'

'Do you ache as much as I do after last night.'

Up close, with the last of the evening sunlight on Ray's face, Hiro could see the tiny, barely visible freckles scattered over his nose.

Ray's amber eye's sparkled, his mouth curved up at the corners and his complexion was flawless.

Most people looked better from a distance, thought Hiro. Ray was even more gorgeous close up.

'You're beautiful.' He couldn't help himself, he had to say it.

'And you're a salesman.' Ray raised a sceptical eyebrow. Anyway, you haven't answered my question.'



'I love you,' said Hiro.

'You're still a salesman.'

Outwardly, Ray was still joking, but inwardly Hiro knew he believed him. Which was just as well, Hiro thought. Because it was true.

'You want me to be completely honest with you?'He was smiling as he spoke, his mouth inches away from Ray's. 'Okay, I do, I ache just as much as you do. I ache like mad. And you know something else?'

'What?' Ray wondered if all the neighbours were watching. Spread-eagled across the bonnet of a car in the middle of dear Notting Hill . . . well, it was hardly discreet.

'I don't care that I ache,' said Hiro. 'It's not going to stop me. So if you want a good night's sleep, you'd better turn around now and head back into that house.'

As if I could, Ray thought joyfully. He flung his arms around Hiro. So what if he couldn't walk tomorrow, or push a broom, or wash hair. Who cared?

Apart fro Takao, his stroppy employer, who could get quite funny about salon juniors who staggered into work incapable of carrying out the simplest tasks.

Then again, what did Takao know about love? All he ever went out with were models with minds as blank as their faces and Press Here buttons in their backs for when you wanted them to speak. And they never lasted longer than a few weeks; with his low boredom threshold, Takao freely admitted that he didn't know why he bothered.

It was, all in all, a bit of a sad existence, Ray felt. As if being photographed and appearing in as many magazines as possible was more important than being with someone you actually liked. Poor Takao, he didn't know what he was missing.



'If it takes you this long to make up your mind,' said Hiro, 'I must be loosing my touch. Maybe I'd better just go home after all.'

He was doing his best to sound offended. Ray ran his fingernails down his back.

'I was thinking about my boss.'

'Oh, great. Don't think about your boss, think about me!'

'Okay, let's go.' Blissfully, Ray breathed in the scent of Hiro's aftershave. 'Who needs sleep anyway?'

'I love you.'

Ray knew why he was saying it again. It was his turn now; Hiro was waiting for him to return the favour. Ray shivered with happiness.

'I love you too.'

Above them, Florence's living room window was flung open.

'Any more of that malarkey in a public parking bay,' Florence yelled down at them, 'and you'll get clamped.'

**Dolphin-san:** Oh, wasn't that really close? Hiro even recognised Kai's car, lucky for him he didn't see the passenger. Sorry, but I don't think the inevitable meeting will happen for another few chapters. You'll just have to be patient.


	24. Chapter 24

**Dolphin-san:** Yay, updating so soon, I love the holidays. Too bad that I only have a week of free time left.

**Chapter 24**

Max had an appointment at the hospital for an ultrasound scan on Friday afternoon. He was wondering how to break this unhappy news to Bruce – unhappy for Bruce, that is, not for Max – when he burst into the shop on Wednesday morning with news of his own.

'Well, we're finally being allowed to meet him.'

Bruce's chins wobbled with disapproval, his chest was puffed out like a penguin's. Time to get down to Argos and pick up one of their is-it-or-isn't-it? diamond rings, thought Max.

Aloud, he said, 'Meet who?'

'The gigolo, who else? On Friday.'

'You mean Orlando?' Max's eyes lit up with pleasure. 'Oh, you'll like him, he's great!'

Bruce swivelled round en route to his office, his mouth clamped in a tight line.

'You what? You mean you've met him already?'

'He was there on Sunday.'

'You didn't tell me any of this.' Bruce shook his head in disbelief.



'You didn't ask.' Max put on a bewildered look. 'I'm sorry, was I supposed to tell you?'

'For crying out loud, he's a con man,' Bruce bellowed. 'As soon as he's finished bleeding my mother dry – of _my_ inheritance – he'll move on to the next wealthy widow . . . of _course_ I want you to tell me about him!'

'Well, I thought he was really nice,' said Max. 'Charming, friendly . . . and he and Florence get along tremendously well together.'

'Hah, I'll bet they do.'

'He does seem very fond of her.'

Bruce shot Max a dark look.

'He's a gigolo, for Christ's sake. It's his job to seem fond of her.'

'But the thing is,' Max protested, 'he was lovely to me too. And it's not as if I've got money coming out of my ears, is it? I'm hardly likely to buy him a Porsche –' He broke off mid-sentence and looked away.

'A Porsche,' Bruce exploded, 'a bloody _Porsche_, is that what my stupid senile mother has gone and bought him?'

'Not yet.' Max flapped his hands apologetically. 'She's only thinking about it.'

'Right. I'll have a few words with her about that.'

'But you might be mistaken about him. Like I said just now, he seems to really like Florence, and he was _so_ nice to me.'

'He probably fancied you.' Bruce sounded irritated. 'My mother's business, you were pleasure.' Abruptly a thought struck him. 'Hey now, there's an idea! This could be just what we need. You can lure him away from Florence –'

'Me! Oh, fine, easy, no problem,' Max spluttered. 'I'll just be upfront about it , shall I? Ask him why he's wasting his time jetting around the world with some millionaires when he could be buggering off to Bognor instead with a penniless shop assistant who can't even spell Porsche and who, by the way, just happens to be three months regnant.'

'I'm not saying you have to run off with him into the sunset.' Bruce dismissed the suggestion with the scorn it deserved. 'Up to the bedroom will do the trick. We just need to catch him out,' he went on, warming to his theme. 'Show my mother what he's really like. And you could do that, no problem. You're moving in next weekend, he's already showing a bit of interest . . . what could be simpler? That'll bring Florence to her senses in no time. She might be stupid but she still has her pride. As soon as she finds out he's been cheating on her, she'll kick him out,' Bruce concluded triumphantly. 'End of problem. Fantastic.'

Max inwardly marvelled at his smugness.

'I couldn't do that to Florence, I just couldn't.'

'Cruel to be kind,' said Bruce, rubbing his hands.

'But I'm pregnant. Don't you think that might . . . um, bother him?'

'For pity's sake, the man's a gigolo! He wouldn't know a scruple if it jumped up and head-butted him! You're pretty, Max. That's all men like him care about.'

'Florence might blame me. She might kick _me_ out,' Max protested.

Bruce considered this. Finally he spoke.

'Look, if you can manage to get rid of this . . . this Orlando,' his lip curled as he pronounced the ludicrous name, 'I'll give you two thousand pounds.'

'What?'

'All right, three.'

'Hang on a second,' began Max.

'Okay, okay, five thousand.'

Bruce heaved a sigh. It was a lot of money, but what the hell, it would be worth it. And five grand was a small price to pay if it meant saving his inheritance.

'I'm not sleeping with him,' Max said flatly.

Bruce looked resigned; somehow he knew Max wouldn't.

'Okay, just so long as you do enough to make my mother realise he's a waste of space.'

'If he is,' Max reminded him. 'He may not be.'

'That's your trouble, you're too trusting.' What Bruce actually meant was gullible. Jesus, was it any wonder why his husband had run off?

'You shouldn't judge people until you've met them,' Max persisted. 'You might like Orlando.'

'Hmm.'

Maybe it was the pregnancy, thought Bruce, doing bizarre things to Max's brain.

'Well, we'll find out on Friday,' Max went on brightly. 'That's when I'm moving in.'

Bruce perked up. This could be interesting.

'I'll be able to see how he behaves towards you.'

'Oh, that would have been brilliant. But I'll still be upstairs, ploughing through all my unpacking. Unless . . .' Max glanced hopefully across at him, 'you could let me have that afternoon off?'

'You look lovely.' Ray was full of admiration. 'Nice and sleazy.'

'But subtle sleaze,' said Kai, standing back from Ray's bedroom mirror and letting Ray blast away with the hairspray.

'There, done.'

Ray bounced off the bed, admiring his own handiwork.

They had settled on slicked-back hair and fake tan for that Latin-lover look, teamed with a navy blazer over a white polo shirt and precision-ironed jeans. The overall effect, together with the jewellery and aftershave, was just right.

'Smile at me,' Ray ordered.

Kai smiled, gigolo-style, oozing charm and sincerity and playful flirtation.

Somewhere in the depths of Ray's ribcage, something went zinnggg. He shook his head, marvelling at the effect.

'Damn, you're good.'

'I know. Scary, isn't it?' Reaching for Ray's hand, Kai pressed a warm, lingering kiss on the tips of his fingers.

'Oh dear,' Ray murmured. 'You could live to regret that.'

'Why? Oh God –!'

Kia pulled a face as the terrible taste belatedly reached his tongue.

'What did I just plaster all over your head?' Gleefully Ray waved his hands at Kai, Al Jolson-style. 'Hair gel.'

Kai watched him run a comb through his own gel-free hair. It was almost eight o'clock – Bruce and verity would be here at any minute.

'Not seeing the boyfriend this evening?'

_The_ boyfriend. Honestly, how derogatory was that?

'He's away.' Ray vigorously rubbed a bit of blusher onto his cheeks, hoping he looked like a guy who could take separations in his stride. Since Hiro had left for Birmingham on Wednesday Ray had missed him dreadfully, had practically been counting the minutes, but tonight was the last night. By lunchtime tomorrow Hiro would be back, hooray!



'He's at an important sale's conference,' he explained airily over his shoulder. 'In Birmingham.'

Kai sounded amused.

'You hope.'

'What are you talking about? Of course he's at a sale's conference.' Ray swung around and glared at Kai.

'How do you know? He could have another boyfriend tucked away somewhere.' Kai shrugged. 'I'm not saying he _has_. It's possible, that's all.'

'Why are you doing this?' Ray demanded. 'Does it give you some kind of thrill?'

Kai feigned ignorance.

'Not at all. I was just thinking of a piece I did in one of the Sundays last year, about bigamists. It just amazed me the way their spouse had absolutely no idea what was going on.'

Ray almost felt sorry for him. It couldn't be fun having a nasty suspicious mind.

'Look, just because you're a journalist you don't always have to think the worst of people,' he told Kai patiently. 'Not everyone's a liar and a cheat, you know. I'm not, Florence isn't . . . and Hiro isn't, either. He's honest and trustworthy and when he tells me he has to go to a sale's conference in Birmingham, I believe him. So just shut up about it, okay?'

'Okay. I'm sorry.' Kai flashed him an apologetic – well, _fairly_ apologetic – smile. 'I must not cast aspersions on Ray's perfect boyfriend, I must not cast aspersions on Ray's –'

'Stop it!' Ray howled, blushing and hurling the comb at him.

'Must be true love.' Kai eyed Ray's pink cheeks with enjoyment. 'Bet you wish you hadn't put all that blusher on now.'

'It's eight o'clock.' Ray pushed him towards the door. 'We'd better get a move on. Bruce and Verity aren't going to be wildly impressed if they arrive to find you locked away upstairs with me.'

**Dolphin-san:** Sorry about that short chapter. I'll make it up to all of you later, okay?


	25. Chapter 25

**Dolphin-san:** I was looking at the biography's of some of my reviewers, to see how they write and stuff, and I noticed something on one in particular. In the Biography of **Broken Vows**, my most loyal reviewer, she has been so nice and sweet and patient with my writing since the start, and she has also recommended in her biography that people go and check out my fic. I saw this and decided that, to repay such a kind thing, I will dedicate this funny little chapter to her.

Hope you enjoy this.

**Chapter 25**

Bruce wasn't wildly impressed with Orlando anyway. Ray, keeping himself busy pouring drinks and passing round trays of M&S hors d'oeuvres, could only watch and admire Kai's performance. He might be a pig, but when it came to playing the part of the _almost_ totally devoted younger man, he was perfect.

Florence was good too, as the besotted older woman.

Even Max was doing his bit, exchanging meaningful looks with Kai whenever Florence's attention was diverted.

If Bruce looked like he was chewing a lemon, thought Ray, Verity looked like she was chewing a lemon with a maggot in it.

'So we thought a few weeks in Las Vegas first,' Kai was busy explaining to them, 'then maybe fly on down to Miami.'

'If we've got any money left by then,' Florence put in cheerfully.

Kai gave her hand a squeeze.



'Don't worry, we will. I told you, we're going to bring each other luck.' His smile as he turned back to Bruce was warm. 'And I'm on a winning streak at the moment, wouldn't you say? Meeting Flo has been the best thing that's happened to me in years.'

I'll bet it is, thought Bruce savagely, suppressing the urge to take a wild swing at him.

He cleared his throat. 'So where did you two meet?'

'The Grosvenor Casino. You know Flo, fond of a flutter.' Kai draped his arm casually around Florence's shoulder. 'I've always been attracted to the kind of person who isn't afraid to take risks. This is a fantastic colour on you, by the way.' He paused to admire the crimson brocade of Florence's dress. 'You're looking stunning tonight.'

Patting his hand, Florence leaned forwards and stage-whispered to Verity, 'Isn't he a dream? Can you imagine how wonderful it feels, after years of . . . nothing, to be showered with compliments?'

Verity couldn't, actually. The only times Bruce remarked on her appearance were when he pointed out that her nail polish was chipped or that her bra straps were on show.

'But doesn't she _deserve_ compliments?' Kai protested. 'I mean, forget she's your mother-in-law, just look at her! She's a beautiful woman, a fabulous, original human being. She has a mind of her own –'

'Not to mention a fair amount of money,' Bruce blurted out before he could stop himself.

Florence glared at him.

'Bruce!'

'What?' Defiantly, he glared back. 'I'm stating a fact. Aren't I allowed to mention that?'

Kai nodded understandingly.

'It's all right, I'm not interested in Florence's money,' he assured Bruce.

'So what's this I hear about a Porsche?'

Kai looked hurt.

'I didn't ask Flo to buy me a Porsche. She offered.'

'That's absolutely right. Anyway, we haven't bought it yet.' Florence rushed to his defence. 'There's a waiting list.'

For the first time in his life, Bruce was grateful for a waiting list.

'What kind of work do you do?' he demanded.

'Oh, this and that.' Kai shrugged, unembarrassed. 'I'm not exactly your nine to five type.'

As he smoothed back his hair, the fake diamond glittered in the light. Ray saw Verity and Bruce look at it, then at each other.

'I love that ring you're wearing,' he told Kai. 'Where did you get it?'

'This?' Kai raised his eyebrows and waggled his little finger. 'A gift from a dear friend of mine. Heavens, is that the time already? We should be ordering a cab.'

'Where are you going?' said Bruce, startled.

'Darling, the casino,' Florence exclaimed. 'Didn't I mention it? We go every Friday!'

'To celebrate our anniversary,' Kai chimed in. 'That's when we met, you see, on a Friday night.'

'It's great fun,' Florence told Verity and Bruce. 'You'll come along, won't you? We'll have the most wonderful time, the four of us together.'

'Why would we want to watch you throw your money anyway?' snapped Bruce. 'More to the point, why would _you_ want to throw it away?'

'Because it's fun.' Calmly, Florence opened her bag and took out a lipstick. Pursing her lips, she dashed on a layer of glossy crimson to match her dress.

'_Fun_ . . .'

'Bruce, lighten up. According to you,' Florence patiently reminded him, 'playing golf is fun. And membership of that fancy club of yours doesn't come cheap, I'm sure. To each his own, darling. You hit little white balls into sandpits, I happen to prefer blackjack and roulette. Besides, she went on as she squirted scent on to her wrists and throat, 'we need to practice. We're in training for Vegas.'

'Good God,' Bruce spluttered under his breath. He tipped back his head and drained his glass of Scotch, wincing as the ice cubes smacked into his front teeth.

'How about it then, are you coming with us or not?' Kai's hand was hovering over the phone. 'Because if it's a yes, we can all go in your car.'

The expression on Bruce's face reminded Ray of a grenade having it's pin slowly pulled out. Ray bit his lip and looked across at Florence, who was in turn gazing lovingly at Kai.

'No we bloody well are not coming with you,' Bruce hissed through clenched teeth. He began to wag his finger at Kai. 'And let me tell you something else –'



'Bruce is tired, he's had a hard day,' Verity broke in at high speed before Bruce managed to instantly disinherit himself. 'Actually, we should be getting back – we did promise the babysitter we wouldn't be late.'

'It's only nine o'clock.' Florence looked dismayed.

'Don't worry, I get the message,' said Kai. 'I'm not stupid. You think I'm only interested in your mother for her money, don't you?' He gazed sadly at Bruce. 'I'm not, though. I'm here because I care about her. I want to make her happy. I'm sorry if I don't earn enough to meet your approval, but there's nothing I can do about that.'

'My son finds it hard to understand that there are more important things in life than money,' Florence explained.

'You,' Bruce jabbed a finger in her direction, 'are going senile.'

'I'd like it if we could be friends,' Kai sighed, 'but I don't think he wants to be. Oh well, at least I tried. I've done my best.'

'I know you have, darling.' Florence patted his hand. 'Why don't you ring that cab company?'

'And charge it to my mother's account,' snarled Bruce.

Florence shot him a look of reproach.

'I'm sorry you feel this way, Bruce. Now, mustn't keep that babysitter waiting.'

'Oh no, I haven't finished yet –'

'Bruce, you're my son and I love you, but sometimes you have the manners of a hog.'

'But –'

'No, don't interrupt.' Out of the corner of her eye, Florence could see Ray trying desperately not to laugh. 'If you can't be charming to Orlando, I think you'd better go home.'

**Dolphin-san:**Tee hee, what a great performance by Kai, huh? I love this chapter. Bruce really doesn't know a thing does he? Until next time, folks, I hope you enjoyed this.


	26. Chapter 26

**Dolphin-san: **Hey there everyone! I'm **so** sorry for the very lo-o-ong delay with updating this fic but since the Easter holidays I've just been kept so crazily busy with revision for my prelims, and then almost straight after that it was revision for my final exams, then the exams themselves. Also I've had to finish my project for the part time college course that I take, so I've barely had a minutes free time to sit down and write anything for this.

This may be a short chapter, since I decided that I had to at least write _something_ to keep you guys interested, but I promise that I'll write even more chapters very soon, okay?

**Chapter 26**

By ten o'clock, Ray was seven hundred and sixty pounds down and beginning to panic.

'I'm usually lucky. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me,' he wailed. 'I'm normally great at this.'

Across the table, Kai smirked. 'Don't forget you still owe me a hundred as well.'

'You're all heart,' Ray muttered, counting how much he had left.

Surreptitiously, while Kai wasn't looking, Ray slid a couple of fifties into the waistband of his shorts, for emergency use only. Sod Kai, if he didn't know Ray had it, he couldn't demand his money back.

'Right, my go.' Florence rattled the dice and flung them across the board with panache. 'Six. Hah, Community Chest! "It's your birthday,"' she read aloud, '"collect five hundred pounds from each player."'

'I think you mean ten,' Kai told her.

Florence winked at him.

'Worth a try, darling, always worth a try. Wouldn't care to sell me that funny little blue card of yours, by any chance?'

'That funny little blue card,' said Kai, 'is Park Lane.'

'Name your price,' Florence announced grandly.

'A brand new Porsche.'

'Oh!' Ray suddenly squealed. 'Did you see Bruce's _face_ when you said Florence had offered to buy you one?' Scrambling into a sitting position, he imitated Bruce's get-ready-for-the-suppository expression. 'Poor old Bruce, I almost felt sorry for him, I thought for a second his eyes wer e going to bounce out on springs . . . you know, doinnnggg . . .'

Max stared at Ray in amazement.

Florence, raising her eyebrows, said, 'Is he on drugs?'

'Either that or he has something to hide.' Kai was calmly counting his own money. 'It could be a desperate attempt to distract us, so we won't notice he's landed on somebody else's property –'

'Yes! Bond Street!' Max cried. 'Hooray, that's mine!'

'Bastard.' Ray glared at Kai, who was trying not to smile.

'Actually,' Kai said to Max, 'would you take seven hundred pounds for Fenchurch Street Station?'

Max, who was turning into quite the wheeler-dealer, promptly said, 'Make it eight.'

Florence said, 'He only has seven.'

Kai looked at Ray.

'Pay-up time, I'm afraid. I need that extra hundred.'

'I don't have it! Max just cleaned me out,' Ray protested, Kai could take a hike, he wasn't getting his hands on Ray's emergency fund.

'Give me my hundred.'

'I can't.'

'Oh yes you can.'

'Look, how can I give you something I don't have?'

Florence said, 'Where are you going?' as Kai leapt to his feet.

'Don't you know? I'm a debt collector in my spare time.'

Ray, who was on his knees, began to shuffle backwards away from the table. Ow, carpet burns, carpet burns –

'No!' He let out a howl of outrage as Kai made a grab for him. 'You can't _do_ that!'

A brief and not very dignified grappling contest ensued on the Persian rug. Ray screamed as warm fingers burrowed expertly under his T-shirt and slid – eek – beneath the waistband of his shorts.

'Sorry,' said Kai, emerging triumphant within seconds and clearly not sorry at all. 'Had to be done.'

Grinning, he waggled the crumpled fifties under Ray's nose, then whisked them out of reach before he could grab them back.

'I hate you,' Ray sighed. 'Now I'm really, really skint.'

'Cheer up, I might land on Old Kent Road in a minute.' Kai rolled his eyes. 'Then I'll owe you . . .phew, two whole pounds.'

'That wasn't gel I put in your hair, by the way.' Ray tugged his T-shirt down over his midriff. 'It was superglue.'

'You two, stop sniping,' Florence instructed as the telephone began to ring. 'At least while I answer the phone.'

'Maybe I should check your hair,' said Kai. 'You could have thousands stashed away.'

Ray gazed up at him from the floor, flushed and out of breath.

'You wouldn't dare.'

'Want to bet? Oh, sorry, you can't, can you?' Kai flashed Ray his wickedest grin. 'I forgot you don't have any money left to bet with.'

'Pig,' wailed Ray.

'Ray!' said Florence.

'What? Why can't I call him a pig?'

'I think Florence was talking about the phone call,' Max put in helpfully.

'Oh.' Lifting his head from the rug, Ray saw Florence holding the receiver out to him. 'Who is it?'

'Richard Branson, ringing to ask if you want to borrow a couple of grand.' Florence cackled and blew pretend kisses in the direction of the phone. 'Who d'you think?'

Max passed the receiver across to Ray and wriggled out of his way.

At the sound of Hiro's voice, Ray's stomach did an impromptu jump for joy.

'Sounds lively,' Hiro observed. 'What's going on?'

'I'm just losing at Monopoly. Mainly because I'm surrounded by cheats.' Ray narrowed his eyes at Kai. 'How about you?'

'Lonely. Missing you,' said Hiro.

'Oh!' Overcome by this admission, Ray tried to shield his mouth so that Kai wouldn't be able to overhear. 'I miss you too!'

'This is so romantic.' Kai sighed, clutching Max's shoulder and shaking his head. 'Anyone got a tissue?'

'You may need one' – this time Ray covered the receiver - 'to mop up the blood.' Moving his hand away, he returned his attention to Hiro. 'Sorry about that. Some people have the most infantile sense of humour. So where are you now, out somewhere celebrating the end of the conference?'

'Better than that. Newport Pagnell service station, on the M1.'

Ray let out an ear-splitting shriek.

'You're joking! What are you doing there?'

'Uh oh,' Kai leaned back on one elbow, 'he's met someone else. He's ringing from Gretna Green to tell Ray he's just got married. His name's Zack, he's a stripper – _ouch_.'

Ray stuck out his tongue and kicked Kai, for god measure. Did he really think he was being amusing?

'I couldn't stand it a minute longer,' said Hiro. 'We all went out to a club earlier. You should have seen the rest of the team, chatting up anything with a pulse. All they care about is picking up some tart for the night and getting their leg over. I left them to it,' he went on. 'That might be their idea of fun, but it isn't mine.'

'So you're on you're on your way home now,' Ray exclaimed. 'Oh, this is brilliant! How long will it take you to get here?'

'I'll pick you up at eleven.' Hiro sounded as if he was smiling. 'Only if you want me to, of course.'

'I do want you to. Oh, I definitely want you to.' Ray was beaming too, he couldn't help himself. He wished he could purr seductive sweet nothings into the phone but it was hard to purr seductively when you had such a blatantly amused audience.

'I love you,' said Hiro.

'Mm. Um, me too.'



Hiro laughed.

'Difficult to talk?'

Across the table, Kai was playing an imaginary violin.

'You could say that.'

'Okay, never mind. See you soon.'

'I sincerely hope that wasn't Richard Branson,' said Kai when Ray had hung up.

'I don't need a loan any more.' Ray shot him a sweet, couldn't-care-less smile. 'I'm out, bankrupt. You three carry on without me. And you,' he pointed a finger at Kai, 'can apologise, if you like, for all that guff you gave me earlier about men saying they're away at sales conferences when they aren't.'

'I'm sorry. He's clearly mad about you.'

'He is,' said Ray.

'He's a very lucky man.'

'Absolutely correct.'

Kai grinned, watching Ray uncross his legs and leap excitedly to his feet.

'So what's he got that I haven't? Oh, don't tell me, he's terrific in bed.'



Florence was by this time practically doubled up with laughter.

'Right again,' Ray told Kai as he headed for the door. 'That makes three out of three. Excellent. You could be a clairvoyant when you grow up.'

It was five past eleven.

Downstairs, Max could dimly hear Florence and Kai still battling it out across the Monopoly board, each of them determined to win.

Yawning, Max climbed into his new bed. It had been a long day and he was shattered. Four hours in the shop, then the trip to the antenatal clinic, followed by the move itself, not to mention the strain of keeping a straight face throughout Kai Hiwatari's bravura performance as Orlando.

The curled up strip of photographic paper lay on the bedside table between his rackety old alarm clock and his reading lamp. Reaching for it, Max lay back against the pillows and gazed at the fuzzy ultrasound image of his baby.

The doctor had assured him that it was a baby, even though, in profile, it looked more like an exotic mush room.

Max's eyes filled with tears of joy as he traced the outline of the head and stomach. To have actually watched the tiny heart beating frantically away on the screen, seen the birdlike legs stretch and kick . . .

Biting his lip, he remembered the hospital waiting room packed with hand-holding couples. All those husbands and boyfriends, actually looking forward to seeing their very own exotic mushrooms for the first time.

Oh, Hiro, you stupid, selfish bastard, you don't know what you're missing, you really don't.



Max was still studying the miraculous black-and-white image when he heard the sound of a car drawing up outside, followed by a brief toot on the horn. Less than a second later, there was a furry of activity in the next-door room. Cupboards and drawers were slammed shut, the radio switched off and the bedroom door closed.

He listened to Ray clatter rapturously down the stairs, call goodnight to Florence and bang the front door behind him. Suddenly tempted to sneak out of bed and peer out of the window, Max threw back the duvet. The next moment, the car door slammed shut and the engine was revved up. Oh well, how much had he expected to see anyway, in pitch darkness?

Max hauled the duvet back up again, switched off the bedside lamp and settled down to sleep.

Lucky Ray, to have a boyfriend so besotted that he had driven all the way from Birmingham just to be with him tonight.

As he closed his eyes, Max wondered briefly if any man would ever feel that way about him.

Sex, good grief, he could hardly remember what it was like. It was months, Max realised, since anyone had approached his nether regions without stopping first to pull on a pair of surgical gloves.

**Dolphin-san:** Okay, I'm going to leave it there for just now. I know, it was a short chapter, but I have the time to write a lot more now, so don't worry.


	27. Chapter 27

**Dolphin-san:** Sorry, I'm so very, very sorry for the huge delay in updates. I had intended to have something written and up for the one year anniversary of this fic, but I didn't realise how long it would take me to get everything for this upcoming college course ready.

Once again, I'm sorry for the delay, but I hope that this chapter makes up for it.

**Chapter 27**

Hiro lay back and watched Ray, naked, nudge the bedroom door open with his bottom.

'This was definitely worth coming back for.' He grinned and took one of the cups from Ray. It was a warm night and two hours of stupendous sex had given him a raging thirst. 'Sorry it has to be tea,' he clunked his cup against Ray's, 'but I'm all out of champagne.'

'It's probably disgusting,' Ray warned as Hiro took a gulp. 'You're out of milk too.'

It _was_ disgusting, chiefly because Ray had sprinkled in a bit of Coffee Mate as a consolation prize, but Hiro didn't care. Ray was here and that was all that mattered.

'I meant what I said on the phone earlier.' He looked at Ray, his grey eyes serious. 'The last few days have been awful. I can't believe how much I've missed you.'

Ray abandoned his own cup of undrinkable tea and slid back under the duvet.

'I missed you too.'

'I've been thinking,' said Hiro. 'I know it's a bit soon to be saying this, but it just seems crazy, me living here and you living there . . . both of us paying rent, not to mention all the extra travelling . . .'



Ray's heart skipped a lorryload of beats. Was Hiro really saying what he thought he was trying to say?

Oh, come on, thought Ray, how dumb am I pretending to be? Of course he was. Even if it wasn't coming out terribly romantically, he acknowledged with a rush of love.

'What are you suggesting?' Playfully, he danced his fingers across Hiro's bare chest. 'We set up a tent on the bank of the Grand Union Canal? That's about halfway between you place and mine, wouldn't you say?'

Hiro captured Ray's hand and held it still. This was important; he didn't need that kind of distraction right now.

'I'm suggesting you move in with me. I want us to live together.'

Ray gazed at him, wide-eyed. Mustn't laugh, mustn't laugh.

'You mean, because it would be time-saving and economical?'

'No,' said Hiro. 'Because I love you and I want to be with you. All the time.'

'What's up with you?' said Bev, materialising behind Ray at the sinks and making him jump.

'Me? Nothing, nothing . . . why should anything be up?'

Bev raised an eyebrow at the scarlet jumble of Molton Browners in the sink.



'No reason, just that you've been scrubbing away at those things for the last twenty minutes. You've missed your coffee break. More importantly,' she pointed out, 'you've missed your Mars bar break. And I've never seen that happen before.'

Oh help, I have to tell her soon, thought Ray. He lifted the Molton Browners out of the sink – it was like manhandling a dead octopus – and began to pat them dry with a towel.

'I wasn't hungry,' he said with a shrug.

'Not hungry? Golly, you must be ill. Better get your appetite back before next week.'

Ray's forehead creased.

'Next week?'

'Your birthday, dipstick! Sunday lunch at Sexy Sam's,' Bev reminded him. 'It's all arranged, the table's booked for one o'clock.'

Ray had been so preoccupied with his thoughts of Hiro, his birthday next week had completely slipped his mind. Meeting up for a raucous celebration lunch was an established salon tradition hugely popular with Takao's overworked but loyal staff, especially since he was the one footing the bill.

'You'll have to bring your chap,' Bev rattled on. 'Everyone's _dying_ to meet him.'

I have to tell her, I really have to tell her, Ray thought. Oh, but I just don't want to be the one who dies.

He felt sick.

Took a deep breath.

'He's . . . um, got a golf tournament lined up for next Sunday. He won't be able to make it.'

Aah, _bliss_, no wonder people fibbed. It was so easy and it made you feel _so_ much better, Ray thought with a rush of relief. That horrid sick feeling had simply melted away in an instant, like magic.

I'll tell her soon, he promised himself.

Definitely.

Just not quite yet.

'He's away on your birthday? That's a real shame.' Bev's eyes widened with indignation. 'Honestly, some men are so selfish. He won't be away for the whole weekend, will he? Where's the tournament being held?'

Unable to think, offhand, of the name of a single golf course – was Murrayfield one? Was Greendale? Stenhousemuir? – Ray was delighted to hear cross-sounding footsteps marching up behind them.

Phew, saved by the boss.

'Bev, stop gossiping and get back to work,' Takao said sharply. 'There's someone waiting at the desk.'

Bev glanced over her shoulder at the girl who had walked in off the street. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder white sweater, baggy combat trousers and dark glasses, and her hair was piled up under a khaki baseball cap.

'She doesn't have an appointment. And she hasn't been here before.' When it came to bookings, Bev had a memory like an elephant.

'So get rid of her.' Takao sounded exasperated. 'Tell her we can fit her in some time next year.'

'Ooh,' Ray squealed without meaning to as the girl removed her glasses and baseball cap. 'It's Daisy Schofield.'

'Oh dear, your rival in luurve.' Bev gave him a mock-sympathetic pat on the shoulder. 'Daisy Schofield is Bryan Kutsenov's girlfriend,' she explained to Takao, who was looking surprised. Meaninfully she added, 'Remember the day in Try-it-on Tabitha's swimming pool?'

Surprise swiftly gave way to alarm.

'Ray? You're not seeing Bryan Kutsenov, are you?'

'Of course I'm not. It's just Bev's idea of a joke.'

'He fancies him, though. Like mad,' teased Bev.

Takao raised his eyebrows at Ray, who did his utmost not to blush.

'Look, I promise you, I don't.'

Ray had turned a dramatic shade of puce, which was always entertaining, but Takao was bust rejigging this morning's appointments in his head. They might be fully booked, but business was business, and Daisy Schofield – currently one of the most photographed faces in Britain – would be terrific publicity for the salon.

'So if it's a cut and blow-dry she's after,' the look he gave Ray was severe, 'I can definitely trust you to wash her hair without trying to stuff her head down the sink.

Ray had come across some unchatty clients in his time but Daisy Schofield had to be the unchattiest. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a Pot Noodle.

'Did someone recommend Takao to you?' He tried again as he massaged shampoo into her head. For someone who famously maintained that her long ash-blonde hair was entirely natural, he couldn't help noticing that Daisy Schofield had amazingly dark roots.

Yawning, Daisy shook her head.

'Saw him on TV.'

'Oh. I wondered if Tabitha Lester had suggested –'

'No.' Daisy yawned again, revealing an enviable lack of fillings.

Hate her, hate her.

'It's just that we were at Tabitha's house one day, doing her hair, and we bumped into your boyfriend,' Ray blurted out. Heavens, Takao would kill him if he could hear this, but it was like a compulsion, he wanted to hear about Bryan. He couldn't help wondering, too, if Bryan had happened to mention their impromptu game of watermelon in the pool.

'I've never met Tabitha Lester,' said Daisy, closing her eyes.

She wasn't being bitchy or deliberately unpleasant, Ray was irritated to realise. She just didn't want to talk.

Ah well, serves me right, he thought. What did I expect, that Daisy would exclaim, 'Don't tell me _you're_ the one who ended up in the water with Bryan! He hasn't stopped talking about you since!'



Oh yes, highly likely. He probably wouldn't recognise me if he bumped into me on the street.

I met Bryan Kutsenov for ten minutes, Ray told himself, and now I've got an embarrassing, infantile crush on him.

Honestly, it was as bad as Bev's hopeless infatuation with Hiro. Worse even, because at least Bev was single. I've already got a boyfriend, thought Ray, and I'm still doing it.

Then again, it was a harmless enough hobby. Wasn't the world full, after all, of happily married people fantasising over George Clooney?

'Could you get my bag?' Daisy's voice broke into his daydream.

Ray abruptly stopped shampooing.

'Sorry?'

'My phone's ringing.' Calmly, Daisy nudged the black Prada bag next to her foot. 'I can't reach it. I'm expecting an important call.'

From Bryan!

Ray launched himself at the bag, almost knocking himself out on the basin as he jerked upright again. His imagination, working overtime, galloped through the ensuing phone call from Bryan:

'You're where? The Takao Kinomiya Salon? Hey, is there a pretty guy working there . . . gorgeous eyes, spiky black hair? You're kidding, that's fantastic! Put him on will you, let me speak to him!'

The trouble with actual phone conversations was, they were always a big let-down compared to the imaginary ones.

'Oh, hi, Suze.' Daisy gestured behind her for Ray to turn the water off and pass her a towel. 'No, nothing much, just getting my hair done, then off to some music awards thing with Ritchie.'

Ritchie?

Ray, giving the sink a brisk scrub-down in order to look busy, wondered who the hell Ritchie was.

Luckily, so did Suze.

Daisy giggled into the phone.

'Ritchie Capstick, he's a video-jock with MTV. My agent set it up . . . God, you must be joking, he's really ugly and really gay . . . and definitely no comparison with Bryan!'

Whoever Suze was, she was having a truly miraculous effect on Daisy. Her whole face lit up and she was laughing and joking like an actual human being. Ray, energetically polishing the lined up bottles of shampoo and conditioner, heard the tinny squawks emanating from the phone but was unable – disappointingly – to make out what was being said.

'No, he's still in Montreal, training for the Canadian Grand Prix. Bloody boring.' Daisy rolled her eyes. 'But that's his job, Suze, it's what makes him exciting! D'you think I'd look twice at him if he was a sheep farmer?'

Tinny squawk, tinny squawk.

'Yeah well, if it happens it happens.' Daisy shrugged. 'Still, great publicity, eh? Think how sorry for me everyone would be . . . the whole world loves a tragedy, not to mention a grieving girlfriend!'

'I have to rinse you now,' Ray said stonily. 'Takao's waiting.'



Daisy ignored him.

'Yeah, like Thingy Winslet in _Titanic_.' She grinned into the phone. 'And I've always looked bonza in black.

**Dolphin-san:** Oh I don't like that Daisy Schofield, but then again I wanted her to come off as a bitch. So anyway, that's it for this chapter and I'm hoping I'll have a few more up before I go back on September the 1st. Just two weeks to go!


	28. Chapter 28

**Dolphin-san:** Well, I hope that I can keep up this nice little flow I've got going for this fic.

**Chapter 28**

Hiro met up with Adrian in the bar of the Prince of Wales for an early-evening drink.

'You've asked him to move in with you?' Adrian spluttered into his pint. 'Bloody hell, you're a sucker for punishment, aren't you? Out with one guy, in with the next! What have you got in that new flat of yours, revolving doors?'

Hiro had expected nothing less from Adrian, who spent all his time slagging off guys but who was secretly miserable and desperate – like most divorced men – to meet the right person and settle down.

'I never expected it to happen like this. It's not the kind of thing you plan,' he said with a shrug. 'But it's happened and we want to be together. So why shouldn't he move in?'

Adrian tried not to look envious. How could he blame Hiro, anyway, when he'd fancied Ray himself?

'He isn't bothered about the business with Max and the baby, then?'

Hiro took a careful gulp of his lager.

'That's the great thing about Ray, he hates kids too. You should have heard him the other day, going on about his landlady's grandson. Complete monster, apparently, kicks like a mule. Ray can't stand him.

Adrian raised his eyebrows.



'So you still haven't told him about Max and the baby.'

'Oh come on.' Hiro sounded irritated. 'How could I?'

'He should know,' said Adrian.

'Why?'

'Why? Because he'll go bloody ballistic if he finds out and you haven't told him.'

Hiro gave him a pitying look.

'He won't, though, will he? There's no reason why he should find out. I can trust you to keep your mouth shut, can't I?'

'Well, yes, but –'

'Look,' Hiro said brusquely, 'what happened with Max wasn't my fault, was it? So why should I suffer now? Why should I be the one to get all the grief?'

'I know that. I'm just saying, why don't you tell Ray, then he'll know it too?' Adrian took a grst slurp of beer, marvelling at the situation he found himself in; the moral high ground was unfamiliar territory for him. Blimey, he'd been taking up counselling next!

But Hiro was less amused.

'Oh, that's great. I'm getting a lecture from the bloke who's own husband left him because he spent his spare time drinking for England and screwed half the bar hands in Battersea.'



'Fine,' said Adrian, offended. 'You don't have to take my advice.'

'Thank Christ for that.' Hiro relaxed and grinned at him, signalling to the barman for refills. 'Come on, Ade, you don't need to worry about me. The situation's under control. Telling Ray about Max,' he gestured and-the-rest with his free arm , 'isn't going to make him happy, is it? I know what Ray's like, it's the kind of thing he'd just fret about.'

'I suppose.' Adrian shrugged, losing interest. He preferred talking about football.

'I don't need the hassle, that's all.' Hiro pushed his fingers through his hair. 'You know what they're like. What Ray doesn't know can't hurt him.' He gave Adrian a cheer- up nudge. 'Isn't that right?'

Adrian lit a cigarette.

'Yeah.'

Ray, singing noisily and spectacularly off-key in the bath the following Sunday, wondered how old you had to be before you stopped getting excited about your birthday. How much longer did he have before the novelty wore off, boredom set in and he began telling people in a blasé fashion, 'Oh no, nothing planned, it's just like any other day.'

'Twenty-four today, twenty-four today, Ray yodelled, twiddling the hot tap with his toes and sending a gush of scalding water over his ultra-cool, RayBan-wearing yellow plastic duck. 'Oh, I've got the key to the door, never been twenty-four before.'

'Any more caterwauling,' Bev's voice filtered through from the other side of the bathroom door, 'and I'll be the one with the key, locking you in there.'

'You're early!' Ray splashed into a sitting position. 'Is Takao here as well?'



Takao had volunteered to drive them to the restaurant on Soho, but not yet, surely? It was still only eleven o'clock.

'He's dropping James at Heathrow.' James, yet another model, was Takao's latest boyfriend. 'I came early because I want you to wear your present from me.'

A present you could wear! Ray brightened at once.

'Is it a pair of fake bosoms?'

'Not telling you.' Bev sounded pleased with herself. 'You'll have to come downstairs and find out.'

It might be a bash over the head with something heavy, thought Ray, when Bev heard what he had to tell her.

Oh, crikey, it was scary but it had to be done. Lying back in the bath, he took a deep breath and began psyching himself up for the ordeal ahead.

But really, there couldn't be a better time, could there?

It's my birthday, Ray reminded himself, clutching this fact to him like a security blanket. Nobody was allowed to be horrid to you on your birthday, oh no, that would be too mean for words. Bev couldn't – _wouldn't_ – spoil his special day.

Ducking down under the surface of the water, Ray exhaled a stream of bubbles and began counting. If he reached thirty without coming up for air, Bev would forgive him.

Probably.

And if I don't reach thirty, thought Ray, I'll have drowned.

Which might actually be safer in the long run.

Florence remained discreetly in the kitchen while Ray took Bev out into the walled back garden.

'I've left your present inside,' Bev protested, teetering down the wheelchair friendly slope in her four inch spike heels.

All the better to hit me over the head with, thought Ray.

Aloud he said, 'There's something I have to tell you first. It might make you hate me.'

'What?' Bev eyed him with suspicion. 'If your Walkman's chewed up my Celine Dion tape –'

'It didn't,' Ray put in hurriedly, glad that no one was around to overhear. Borrowing a Cline Dion tape – phew, now that _was_ embarrassing.

'Okay, so it isn't it?' Bev visibly relaxed. 'What is it then?'

'Hiro.'

'Hiro who?'

Oh, for heavens sake . . .

Hiro Granger.' Agitatedly, Ray twisted the silver bangle on his wrist. 'Remember? The bloke you met at Elizabeth Turnbull's party and haven't stopped talking about for the last two months?'



'Oh, right.' Bev nodded. 'That Hiro.' She frowned. 'I don't get it. What about him?'

Ray felt himself going red.

'Um . . . he's who I've been seeing.'

He went redder.

And redder still, under Bev's incredulous gaze.

'You mean . . . ?'

'Yes! He's the one,' Ray blurted out. 'Oh God, I'm so sorry!'

'Well?' said Florence said when Ray finally reappeared in the kitchen doorway. 'Want me to call the riot police? Did she go for you with the garden spade and call you terrible names?'

'She did, actually.' Ray eyed the long tray of smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels. 'Well, not the spade thing, but she called me a berk.'

'Is that all? Help yourself, by the way.' Florence nodded at the bagels. 'They're for you.'

'A prize berk. A big wally. And a plonker,' said Ray through a mouthful of smoked salmon. 'She couldn't believe that I'd been so scared of telling her.'

'All that fuss for nothing, then.' Florence reached for the tray and balanced it across her lap. 'What did I tell you? That might be him now,' she went on as the doorbell rang out in the hall.



Ray shook his head.

'It won't be, I'm not seeing him until tonight.' In deference to the Bev situation, this was what they had agreed.

Except, Ray realised frustratedly, now that everything had been sorted out, Hiro could have come along after all . . .

'You're right, it isn't,' said Florence, who had scooted across the kitchen and was peering out of the window. 'It's that good-looking boss of yours.' She smiled across at Ray. 'So why have you never made a play for him?' Florence's eyes glittered with mischief. 'Rich, handsom, successful fellow like that – you could do a lot worse.'

Ray found this idea comical in the extreme. It had simply never occurred to him to find Takao attractive, or to have a crush on him. He was his employer and he was the lowly salon junior regarded – quite unfairly – by Takao as a hopeless case.

Apart from anything else, it was hard to lust after someone who spent his life telling you off.

'Like I've said to you before, he goes for models,' he patiently informed Florence. 'If I was six foot tall and well built, I might stand a chance. At the moment,' he added as a way of explanation, 'he's going out with James Thompson.'

Florence cocked an eyebrow as she wheeled herself through to the hall to answer the door.

'Ah, but what if he wasn't?'

Once a meddler, always a meddler, thought Ray.

'If he wasn't,' he raised his voice to make sure Florence heard, 'I'd still be going out with Hiro.'

**Dolphin-san:** I still adore Florence, she's just so happy about everything, and always looking for a chance to meddle in someone's life!


	29. Chapter 29

**Dolphin-san:** Hello there, good people. Here is the next instalment of this little fic for you all to enjoy.

**Chapter 29**

When Max arrived back from the shops, he found an impromptu champagne-and-bagels party in full swing in Florence's sitting room. Bev was there, and so was Takao Kinomiya, whom of course he recognised but hadn't met before.

'Come on, have a drink, one little glass won't hurt,' Ray urged, pouring him one and proudly showing off his new top. 'What d'you think, isn't it great? Bev gave it to me!' He did an arms-up shimmy followed by a twirl, spilling a fair amount of Moet on the way round.

Max admired the top, which was black, stretchy and semi-transparent, with strategically positioned red satin butterflies appliquéd across the chest.

'It's very you,' he told Ray, deeply envious of his slim figure.

'Flighty,' Florence crowed, 'and a bit tight.'

Ray waved his glass happily.

'I prefer sexy,' he declared, 'and exotic.'

The television was on in the corner. Florence was busy zapping through the channels in search of a weather forecast.

'I still say you should take a jacket, they were predicting thunderstorms for this afternoon. Hang on, I'll get it on Ceefax –'

'Ooh, look, don't turn over!' Ray let out a yelp of excitement. 'It's Bryan!'

The Canadian Gran Prix was due to take place in Montreal in a few hours, and an informal pre-race interview with Bryan Kutsenov, the great British hope, was being shown. Seeing as it was Ray's birthday, everyone turned to watch.

'He's so gorgeous,' sighed Ray. Hastily, he added, 'Not that I fancy him, of course.'

'Not much,' said Bev with a grin.

'So the very best of luck, Bryan, for this afternoons race,' concluded the jovial motor-racing commentator, 'from your millions of British fans . . .'

'Oh, shame.' Bev patted Ray's arm. 'And you thought you were the only one.'

'. . . drive safely . . .'

'Try not to get killed,' said Ray. 'Honestly, can you believe what Daisy Schofield said last week?' He shook his head in disgust. 'I still can't get over that.'

'Total bitch,' Bev agreed as the commentator wound up the interview.

'The really irritating thing is, I was sure she wouldn't leave me a tip. And she did,' Ray marvelled.

Bev winked at Max.

'What, like, "Don't get too fond of your racing driver boyfriend in case he dies"?'



'Better than that,' said Ray, 'she gave me a tenner.'

The mention of money reminded Max that in his backpack was the card and present he had bought this morning for Ray. It wasn't much – he couldn't afford a great deal – but he hopped Ray would like the stained-glass photo frame.

Backpack, backpack – there it was, where he had left it, on the table over by the window.

'Looking for something?' Takao had intercepted his gaze, but Max was already levering himself upright.

One casual glance out of the window was all it took to suck the air from his lungs and send his mind reeling with shock.

Outside, emerging from his car in the street below, was Hiro.

Okay, thought Max, don't faint, keep calm, sit back down again before you fall and _think this through._

Oh, but he was here, he'd come to see him! And when your ex-husband arrived unexpectedly on your doorstep clutching a bunch of flowers the size of a Christmas tree, it could only mean one thing . . .

I need more time, I need more time, thought Max, dimly aware that Takao Kinomiya was watching him slowly retrace his steps, empty-handed. But could this really be happening? Had Hiro somehow tracked him down – well, of course he had, though Bruce and Verity, no doubt – and come to beg his forgiveness? Did this mean he'd changed his mind about the baby as well?

Oh God, this was all so confusing, he could barely think and walk at the same time. Every step was like trying to wade through a field of his mother's bread sauce.



'Are you alright?' Takao said quietly, ducking his head as Bev swished past with a brimming glass in one hand and one of Florence's cocktail cigarettes in the other. Bev had been known to accidentally set fire to things when she was allowed custody of a cigarette.

Am I alright? wondered Max.

'Ha!' Sparks showered from the end of Bev's Sobranie as she brushed it recklessly past Florence's heavy brocade curtains. 'Speaking of boyfriends, guess who's downstairs?'

Ray, through a mouthful of chewy bagel, said, 'Who?'

'Hiro, you dipstick! Just as well you made your big confession earlier – hey, this is brilliant, he can come with us now that he's here! He can, can't he, Takao? Hiro can come along to lunch?'

Max's world was turning crazily on it's axis. He didn't understand what was going on, but he'd experienced the same feeling once before, on the Big Dipper at Blackpool.

Florence's attention had been on her curtains, whose health was in danger of being seriously damaged by Bev's dramatic way with a cigarette. Now, her head swivelled round as she realised that Takao had leapt from his chair and was lifting Max on to the sofa.

Amazed, Florence said, 'Max? What's happening?'

'Just lie back and breath slowly,' Takao instructed Max. 'Is it the baby? Shall I phone for an ambulance?'

Oh no, not a miscarriage, Ray prayed, not on my birthday. And please don't make it all my fault because I forced Max to have that glass of champagne.

Swallowing his bagel at last, he gazed in horror at the scene being played out before him. All the colour had drained from Max's face and he was clutching Takao's hand. Takao was down on one 

knee – for all the world like Hardy at Nelson's deathbed – was taking Max's pulse and exchanging serious-looking glances with Florence.

The doorbell rang.

Max visibly flinched.

'I'll call an ambulance,' Florence decided, reaching for the phone.

Max blurted out, '_No_.'

'Where does it hurt?' demanded Takao.

'I'm okay, I'm okay.' Max brushed Takao's hand away from his wrist and tried to sit up, his gaze fixing on Ray. 'Look, I'm really sorry about this, but is that your boyfriend out there?'

As he spoke, the doorbell shrilled again.

Mystified, Ray said, 'Who, Hiro? Of course he's my boyfriend!'

'Ah. Pass me that glass, would you?' Puffing his hair out of his eyes, Max nodded at Takao. 'It's okay, I don't need an ambulance. Just a drink. You could probably do with another one as well.' He returned his attention to Ray. 'You see, I'm Hiro's husband.'

All eyes were now on Ray, who looked astonished. Fancy making a silly mistake like that, jumping to conclusions and giving everyone a fright.

'Don't be daft. No, no, it's a coincidence, that's all,' he explained to Max, his tone reassuring. 'My Hiro isn't married.'



Max didn't breath a sigh of relief.

He said steadily, 'Is his name Hiro Granger?'

'Oh, _shit_,' Bev gasped.

It was Ray's turn to sit down, on a pile of bagels, with a bump.

**Dolphin-san:** squeals Oh, the two have finally found out! What's going to happen? I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon, so you might not have to wait that long to find out . . .

Ja ne.


	30. Chapter 30

**Dolphin-san:** Hello there once again, everyone! I can't tell you how completely pleased I am to find that we are now at thirty chapters of this fic and I'm still going strong with ideas for it. Hurray!

**Chapter 30**

Florence answered the front door.

Well, someone had to.

And there he was on the doorstep, smiling that boyish, winning smile of his, clutching a gaudy bunch of flowers in one hand and a Happy Birthday helium balloon in the other.

Florence smiled at Hiro in much the same way as she had once smiled at her first husband upon discovering that he had been sleeping with the wife of his commanding officer.

'Hello,' said Hiro. 'I –'

'He's not here,' Florence lied smoothly, as she had been instructed to do. Well, more or less. In reality, Ray had covered his face with his hands and gabbled, 'Don't let him in, just get him out of here, I can't see him now!'

'It's okay.' Hiro nodded easily. 'I wasn't expecting to see Ray. I just wanted to drop these off for him, so he'd see them as soon as he got back from lunch.' He grinned at Florence. 'You know how he can be when it comes to flowers.'

'Quite,' said Florence. Reaching forward in her chair, she took the bobbing balloon from him. 'I'll tell Ray you called.'

'And I'll be round to pick him up at six.' Hiro handed over the flowers. 'Ask him to be ready on time, won't you?'

This was accompanied by a charming smile, to make it sound more of a joke than a command.

'Fine.'

Hiro's smile faded.

'Is everything alright, Florence? Have I done something to upset you?'

Florence longed more than anything to tell him. The words were swelling up inside her like rush-hour commuters on a tube train, jostling to spill out. Oh, what she wouldn't give to be able to speak her mind . . .

But it wasn't her job, it was Ray's. And Ray needed time to collect his own tumultuous thoughts. The last thing he had gibbered to Florence was, 'Just get rid of him . . . _don't say anything_ . . .'

Mentally, Florence zipped her mouth shut and triple-padlocked it.

'No.' Wheeling herself backwards, she prepared to close the front door. 'Everything's fine.'

'I don't believe this, I just can't _believe_ it,' Ray wailed, reaching for his champagne glass. Glugging the contents like water, he closed his eyes, opened them again and peered around the edge of the damask curtain. But with Max leaning over his shoulder, there was no way in the world that it could all be a terrible mistake.

That was definitely Hiro climbing into his car.

His Hiro.



And Max's Hiro.

Ray felt sick. It was like discovering that the man of your dreams was a kitten murderer in his spare time.

Bev, taller than both of them, stood behind Ray and Max and hissed, 'Bastard,' as Hiro's car pulled away. She put an arm around each of them and shook her head. 'I don't know which of you to feel more sorry for.'

Max swivelled round, gazing at her in astonishment.

'You don't have to feel sorry for me!'

'Nor me,' Ray squealed, batting Bev's sympathetic hand off his shoulder. He was quivering, his spiky hair practically standing on end.

'But you must be upset,' said Bev, taken aback.

'Upset? UPSET? I'm not upset,' bellowed Ray, 'I'm bloody furious! He's a lying, cheating bastard and I'm glad I found out now, before . . . before . . . Jesus, how could he _do_ this?'

He had a terrible urge to kick holes in the wall, demolish a couple of bookcases, wrench Florence's expensive curtains down from their poles. The bit about not being upset wasn't true, of course, but those namby-pamby feelings would just have to wait their turn. Ray took a deep, shuddery breath. Right now the anger was the uppermost in his mind. In fact he was probably so angry he could explode.

'You never told us your husbands name was Hiro.' He turned to Max in disbelief. 'All this time and you never even mentioned his name.'

'Neither did you! You didn't tell me your boyfriends name was Hiro. Oh, crikey,' Max gasped, his hand flying to his mouth. 'Are you the reason he left me?'

This was too much, this was too horrible for words. Ray's stomach churned like a cement mixer in freefall.

'When did he leave you? Bev, what was the date of that party . . . oh God, when did we meet Adrian and Hiro?'

'You met Adrian too . . . ?'

'It was a charity cocktail party,' Ray jabbered on. 'Florence gave us her tickets. Daisy Schofield was meant to be there, but she didn't turn up.'

Max twigged.

'Bruce had tickets as well, but he couldn't make it so he passed them on to me. I wondered where they'd gone.'

Bev had been busily riffling through the diary she carried with her at all times in case she was ever unexpectedly asked out. Finding what she was searching for, she looked up.

'April the twenty-third.'

'Bruce's wedding anniversary,' Florence remembered with a nod.

'We were meant to be going to the party together. Except,' Max said resignedly, 'Hiro had already left.'

'So he went on his own and met Ray instead.' Florence snorted with disgust. 'That does it. Next time Elizabeth Turnbull tries to bulldoze me into buying tickets for some bloody charity cocktail party, I'll tie a knot in her neck.'



For Max, the relief was tremendous. Hiro hadn't left him for Ray.

'Next time I see Hiro,' said Ray, 'I'll tie a knot in more than his neck.'

Max suddenly stifled a giggle.

'Oh, excuse me! If we're talking about my ex-husband, are you sure it's long enough to tie a knot in?'

Glancing at each other, Ray and Bev collapsed with laughter.

'Anyone want another drink?' Takao sounded resigned.

'I'm sorry, it must be a gay thing,' Florence explained. 'They have this way with words. Not for sensitive ears.'

Thirteen years in the hairdressing business had more or less desensitised Takao's ears. In that time, he felt, he had probably heard it all. To take offence now would be like a Status Quo freak objecting to the mewing of next doors kitten. But he was touched by Florence's concern.

'Why don't I ring the restaurant, let them know we're going to be late?' He paused. 'Then, if you like, I could cut your hair.'

Ray, still hopelessly agitated, had taken up smoking in a major way and was even messier with it than Bev. In deference to Max's unborn child and – more immediately – Florence's soft furnishings, they had moved outside into the sunny back garden.

Florence ran arthritic fingers over her haphazardly piled-up hair. Normally Ray dealt with it, but this morning she had executed the task herself.



Actually, executed pretty much described the end result.

'It must be bad.' Florence grimaced. 'I'm sure you don't make a habit of accosting strangers in the street, offering to snip them into shape.'

'We aren't in the street,' said Takao. 'And I gave up smoking six months ago. It's easier if I keep my hands occupied.'

'From what Ray tells me, you certainly do that.'

Takao watched her pull an eccentric assortment of combs from her hair and drop them into her lap. 'Ready to go for it?'

'Why not?' Florence had endured months of badgering from Ray, urging her to get her hair cut. 'If you're sure you've got time.'

Like Bev and her beloved diary, Takao never went anywhere without his scissors. As he slid them out of their case, he glanced across the table, around which Ray, Bev and Max were huddles like witches.

'I should think so. Anyway,' he assured Florence, 'I'm a fast worker.'

Her eye's, bright as a bird's, met Takao's.

'Ray told me that too. Just do me a favour, would you, before you start?'

'What?'

'Take that champagne away from him.' Florence nodded in the direction of Ray and the rapidly emptying bottle clutched to his chest. 'At this rate he's going to spend the rest of his birthday flat on his back. Poor lamb,' she added sympathetically, 'and not in the way he planned.'

**Dolphin-san:** So there's the update on the whole they know Hiro's dirty secret thing. Hope you all like it so far, it's great writing it.

Ja ne.


	31. Chapter 31

**Dolphin-san:** Here's the next part of the drama for all those who wait so patiently.

**Chapter 31**

'Florence, hi. Is Ray there with you? Any chance of a word?'

Immediately recognising the voice on the other end of the line, Florence said cheerfully, 'I'm so sorry, Ray can't come to the phone right now, he's unconscious in the garden.'

'Blimey.' Kai Hiwatari sounded impressed. 'All your own work, or did you get Lenox Lewis round to knock him out?'

'Cheaper than that. Two bottles of Moet,' said Florence, 'and one not terribly pleasant surprise.'

'Will he be alright?'

'Oh, fine. His friend Bev's out there now, covering him with Factor 15. So he's well oiled in every sense, ha! And Takao's arranged for the restaurant to deliver the food here as soon as Ray wakes up. You could come over too,' Florence said brightly. 'I'm sure Ray will be pleased to see you . . . poor darling, so far it hasn't been the happiest of birthday's!'

Kai hadn't even realised that today was Ray's birthday. Furthermore, he was struck by the difference between what Florence appeared to be saying and the tone of her voice. She was sounding distinctly jaunty.

'Hang on.' He frowned, mentally pressing Rewind. 'What kind of unpleasant surprise?'

Oh dear, doing it again, thought Florence, and nobody likes a Told-you-so. Before Ray woke up she really must practice being more sympathetic and less smug.

'Mr Right.' She glanced happily in the mirror at her chic new hairdo. 'Seems he isn't so fantastic afterall.'

'Really?'

Kai, she sensed, was being careful to keep his own voice neutral.

'I know, isn't it fabulous?' Sod diplomacy; if there was one thing Florence knew, for sure, it was that Kai was on her side. Gleefully she continued, 'Turns out he was Mr Total Disaster all along.'

Uuurrgh.

Ray, with enormous difficulty, peeled his eyelids open.

Uh oh, hangover. Now how had that happened?

More to the point, what on earth had been going on while he had been er . . . resting his eyes?

Oh dear, as if waking up from a drunken stupor wasn't a bewildering enough experience on its own. Ray, struggling into a half-sitting position, found himself in a far corner of the garden. The next moment he flinched as Kai Hiwatari appeared beside him, holding out a packet of paracetamol and a pint mug of orange juice.

'Saw you waking up.' Kai grinned down at Ray over the top of his sunglasses. 'Thought you might need these. Want me to pop the pills out of the foil for you?'

'I don't understand.' Moaning gently, Ray shielded his own eyes from the sun. He had a pounding hammer-drill of a headache and – mysteriously – the most disgusting taste ever in his mouth. 'The 

last thing I remember, I was sitting at that table over there, you weren't here and Florence had long hair. The next minute,' he frowned and held up his glistening arms, 'I'm waking up on a sun-lounger with gloopy suncream all over me and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.'

'And a knotted handkerchief on your head,' Kai said helpfully. 'Don't forget the knotted handky.'

'Oh God.' Ray whipped it off.

He peered suspiciously at Kai.

'Did you put that there?'

'I did not.' He sounded amused. 'According to Florence, you smoked eleven black Sobranies in seventy-five minutes.'

Oh well, that explained the diabolical taste in his mouth. Hmm, thought Ray, won't be trying that again in a hurry.

'Two at a time, at one stage.'

'Okay, okay.' Ray flapped a feeble arm at Kai to give him a break. 'It's my birthday. You're supposed to be nice to me.'

'This _is_ nice. This is me being extra-nice on your birthday.'

Ray swallowed two of the paracetamol, sloshed down with orange juice and eyed Kai with suspicion.

'What are you doing here anyway? I didn't tell you it was my birthday.'



'I know. I rang to fix up a date for filming in the salon.' Kai sat down on the grass next to the sun-lounger. 'Florence happened to mention it.' He hesitated, his expression masked by his dark glasses. 'She also told me about the . . . Hiro thing.'

Oh God, the Hiro thing.

'Why am I not surprised?' Ray said flatly. He gritted his teeth, making a mental note to tell Florence that, actually, he'd prefer if the details of his private life weren't blurted out to all and sundry the minute he sank into a drunken stupor.

'I'm sorry,' said Kai.

Ray closed his eyes as the horrible details, like stampeding wildebeest, came thundering back over the horizon to haunt him all over again.

'Well, there you go, another one bites the dust.' His voice was brittle. 'Wouldn't it be great if it was an Olympic sport?'

'What – getting plastered, smoking a million fags and falling asleep with a hanky on your head?'

Ray smiled briefly, because Kai knew that wasn't what he meant. He was just trying to cheer him up, make him laugh.

'Getting it wrong. Getting it completely wrong every bloody time. Honestly, I'm better at it than anyone else I know.'

'Come on, that's not –'

'True? Of course it's true,' Ray wailed. 'Look at you, I was convinced you were married and you weren't. Then with Hiro it didn't occur to me for one second that he might be married, and he is. So how clever does that make me?'

Since there was no real answer to that, Kai rose to his feet.

'Look, come on over and join in the rest of your party.' He held out his hands. 'Hang on to me and I'll pull you up.'

'Ouch,' Ray grumbled as Kai hauled him, in turn, efficiently to his feet. Ray's arms, slippery with Ambre Solaire, had required a firm grip. 'What time is it?'

'Four o'clock.'

'Already? Oh God, and Hiro's coming round to collect me at six.' Felling fragile, Ray allowed Kai to guide him across the daisy-studded lawn.

Kai cocked an eyebrow at him.

'Cancel.'

'No way! I want to tell him what I think of him,' Ray said bitterly. 'Then I have to tear him limb from limb. And when that's all done, I'll finish with him.'

Florence beamed; this was celestial music to her ears.

'Darling, back with us at last.' Reaching up, she patted Ray's shoulder. 'Feeling better now?'

'Oh yes, tons.' Ray collapsed on to the wrought-iron chair next to her. 'Two hours to blast-off. If my head wasn't pounding so much, I'd be brushing up on my martial arts.'

Kai, sitting back down next to Max, took off his sunglasses.

'We've been working out the best methods of revenge. Max thinks you should let her answer the door.'

'Like in one of those creepy movies,' Max explained, 'where I say, "Ray? Ray who? I'm sorry, there's nobody by that name living here, this is my house."'

'_Gaslight_.' Florence clasped her hands with relish. 'Charles Boyer and Ingrid Bergman. Such a good film.'

'Who cut your hair?' said Ray, momentarily distracted.

'Darling, what a question! You did of course, just before you passed out.'

'_What_? My God, did I really?'

Florence barked with laughter. 'While you were nineteen sheets to the wind? What do you think I am, completely loopy? Takao did it.'

Oh yes, Ray vaguely remembered that happening now. He must have passed out before the end.

'It's great. Suits you.'

Florence preened; she already knew that.

'Anyway, we're not so sure Hiro will actually believe he's going round the twist,' Max told Ray, 'but Kai's come up with another brilliant idea –'

'Look, don't you think you're all being a bit mean?'

Every head abruptly swivelled in Bev's direction. There was a brief, astonished silence.

'Don't look at me like that.' Bev's tone was defiant. 'I'm just saying it doesn't seem very fair. You're ganging up on him because he didn't tell Ray he was married, but Ray didn't tell me he was seeing Hiro, did he?'

Ray stared at her. Was Bev seriously leaping to Hiro's defence?

'That was because I didn't want to hurt your feelings!'

'So?' Bev retaliated. Maybe he didn't want to hurt yours.'

'He's asked me to move in with him! Don't you think it's about time he took the risk?'

'Don't squeal at me.' Bev sounded cross. 'I'm just saying, you liked him a lot. Up until this morning you were ready to move in with him!'

'And?' said Ray.

'I think you should give him one last chance to tell you, that's all. He might be gearing himself up for it. Teetering on the brink, that kind of thing.'

'Shame he couldn't teeter on the edge of a high building,' Max heard Kai, next to him, murmur under his breath.

**Dolphin-san:** Aww, isn't Kai adorable? He really cares, shame no one seems to get it . . .


	32. Chapter 32

**Dolphin-san: **Hey there! Here's the next chapter for you all to enjoy!

**Chapter 32**

The last time Ray had done any real acting, he'd been one half of a pushmi-pullyu in the school production of _Dr Dolittle_. Then, he'd tripped over his tail and fallen off the stage.

Now, acting for all he was worth, he was making the discovery that pretending to be normal was far harder than being the rear end of a pushmi-pullyu.

'. . . I just can't get over how easy it was! It's so silly, I should have done it weeks ago. Bev was brilliant, she understood completely –'

'That's great,' said Hiro, 'but you've hardly eaten a thing.'

'Sorry.' Ray gave his Thai crab cake a feeble prod with his fork. 'Still hungover, I suppose, from lunch time. It goes to show, though, doesn't it? Honesty's the best policy. All that secrecy for no reason at all. Why couldn't I have just come straight out and told her the truth in the first place?'

Gently, Hiro leaned across the table and took the fork from Ray's hand.

'If you aren't hungry, leave it. I won't be offended. And I'm really pleased that the Bev thing's sorted out, but could we talk about something else now?' His grey eyes crinkled at the corners as he squeezed Ray's twitching fingers. 'Like us?'

It's like that film _The Stepford Wives_, Ray thought, where the woman suddenly realises all the other women are really robots. He was here talking to Hiro but he was no longer _his_ Hiro. He was Max's husband, father of Max's baby, and he had announced he was leaving him the moment Max had discovered he was pregnant.



'Us?'

'I want to be with you. I want to know when you're going to move in with me.'

Despite everything, a lump sprang into Ray's throat. He was still Hiro on the outside, that was the trouble. He was handsome and he loved Ray and men like that didn't come along everyday.

Oh God, it wasn't easy, discovering that the man in your life – the one who _had_ come along – was a big fake.

'You have to have trust, that's the thing,' Ray blurted out. 'Absolute trust. No secrets. We don't have any secrets from each other, do we? Because if we do, we should deal with them now. It's the only way.'

Hiro smiled. The drinking session earlier had left Ray pale, but he thought Ray'd never looked more beautiful. His golden eyes, huge and luminous, shone with emotion. His clothes seemed to fit him like a second skin. He smelled gorgeous.

And Ray was his, all his.

No way was he going to tell him about Max.

Not a chance.

'The only secret I have,' Hiro said slowly, 'is how much I love you. Because you'll never know.'

He lifted Ray's hand to his mouth and kissed it, touched by the tears glistening in Ray's eyes, With his free hand, he took a small velvet box from his jacket pocket.

Ray's breath quickened.

'Is that for me?'

'No, it's for the waitress over there, the one with the orange wig.'

Ray no longer had fingers, he had bunches of pork sausages. Clumsily he struggled to open the lid. Oh God, this wasn't supposed to be happening . . . please, _please_ let it be something else . . .

The lid sprang open.

Five miniscule diamonds and a lone emerald winked feebly up at him, set in a daisy pattern with a horrid gold filigree surround.

Oh dear, there was no getting away from it.

This was truly a tasteless ring.

'Don't worry if it's a bit big,' Hiro assured him. 'I can easily have it altered.'

It probably would be too big, of course, seeing as it had been bought for someone else. But Max had always claimed it didn't sit well with his wedding band; he had simply given up wearing it, a couple of months into the marriage. It wasn't until after he'd moved out that Hiro'd discovered it, at the bottom of his cuff link tin, stuffed carelessly out of sight like a spoilt child's unwanted toy.

Perfectly good ring like that, may as well make use of it, Hiro had reasoned. Max might not have appreciated his excellent taste, but he was sure Ray would.

That wasn't such a terrible thing to do, was it?

No, it was not.

It made perfect sense.

Nothing wrong with being thrifty.

'I don't know what to say. It's . . . incredible,' said Ray.

The kitchen window was wide open and Florence's state-of-the-art CD player teetered precariously on the sloping windowsill. Frank Sinatra serenaded the small but noisy gathering beneath the mulberry trees. The threatened thunderstorms having failed to materialise, the night air was heavy with humidity and heat.

'I can't believe you're all still here,' Ray declared. 'Don't any of you have homes to go to?'

As he made his way across the dimly lit back garden he almost tripped over a pile of empty wine bottles and Florence's discarded sun hat.

'Darling, it's your birthday!' Florence, definitely squiffy, nudged Takao and Max to move up and make way for Ray. 'And we're all agog! So tell us, how did it go? Except we've already guessed, of course, but it's ten o'clock at might and you're back here.'

'I gave him a million chances,' Ray said flatly. 'Not a dickie bird.'

'So that's that.' Bev shrugged. 'He's a bastard after all.'

'I could have told you that weeks ago.' Max sounded amused rather than upset.

'Does he know you know?' Kai's glittering dark eyes narrowed against the smoke from the candles flickering in glass bowls on the table.

Honestly, who does he think he is, the head of M15?

Briskly, Ray saluted.

'No, boss. Carried out your instructions to the letter, boss. Mouth' – he mimicked the action – 'kept zipped.'

Bev was frowning.

'Didn't he wonder why you wanted to come back here?'

'I said I felt ill. Told him I'd see him tomorrow, when my hangover was gone.' Ray picked up a half-empty glass and took an experimental sip. Actually, not bad. Maybe he was ready to start again.

'Aah, "Strangers in the night".' Sighed Florence as the familiar opening bars floated down from the kitchen window. 'I used to dance to this at Cafe de Paris . . . dad a dad a daaa . . . Come on then,' she announced abruptly, jabbing her cigarette in Ray's direction, 'show us what he got you for your birthday.'

Takao, spotting the faint glimmer of diamond chips before anyone else, said, 'I think I can guess.'

Oh dear. You could know that someone was a bastard but still feel a bit mean, Ray discovered. Self-consciously he waggled his fingers.

Whooping, Florence and Bev simultaneously made a grab for his left hand.

'Ouch, I'm not a wishbone.'

Bev gazed across the table at Ray.

'It's an engagement ring.'

'God, it's tiny!' Florence crowed.

Abruptly, the knot returned to Ray's stomach. Conflicting emotions tangled inside him like a yo-yo string. Hiro might be a shit and a deceiver, but it was cruel to make fun of an engagement ring. Okay, so it clearly hadn't cost a huge amount, but it was the thought that counted. Hiro had gone along to a jeweller's and chosen that particular style because he had thought it would suit _him_ . . .

Across the table, someone was clearing their throat. Ray looked up.

'Actually, it's _my_ engagement ring,' said Max.

At midnight, Takao rose to leave.

'Bev? I'll give you a lift home.'

'I need the loo first.' Rocking on her high heels, Bev made a dash for the house.

'I'll show you out,' said Max, observing Kai and Ray still huddled together deep in conversation. 'It's past my bedtime too.'

At the front door, while they waited for Bev, Takao said, 'Tell Ray he doesn't have to be in until ten tomorrow.'

Max looked envious.



'I wish my boss would say nice things like that to me.'

'I'm not always nice. I can be terrifying sometimes.'

'I know. Ray told me.'

Takao smiled briefly.

'Then again, I'm not a complete ogre. He's had a hell of a day.'

'He certainly has.'

Max opened the front door and peered out, the orange glow from the streetlamps turning his hair to apricot.

'So have you.' Takao hesitated, feeling awkward. Before today, he had never even met Max. 'Are you all right?'

Upstairs, the lavatory flushed. Bev would be back any minute.

'Oh, I'm okay.' Max nodded vigorously. 'Better than I expected, to tell you the truth. It helps to know I'm not the only man he's treated like dirt. Poor Ray, though . . .'

Takao marvelled at Max's attitude. He really did feel sorrier for Ray than he did for himself. Accustomed as he was to the tedious, self-absorbed ramblings of much of his clientele, Max's lack of self-pity was like a breath of fresh air.

'Ready,' Bev announced, clattering down the stairs. 'Bye,' she told Max, giving him a kiss.



Takao, following her lead, leaned across and kissed Max's cheek as well.

'Bye. Taka care.'

There were dimples in Max's cheeks that deepened when he smiled.

'I really am fine, you know. You don't have to feel sorry for me. Plus, I always did hate that engagement ring.'

Takao laughed.

'Okay. See you soon.'

'Absolutely,' said Max. The mischievous dimples reappeared. 'See you at the wedding.'

**Dolphin-san:** I'm afraid this may be the last update for a while, people. I start college this Monday, and normally I would work extra hard to bring you another chapter for tomorrow, but I'm going to see the end of festival fireworks in Edinburgh tomorrow night. But I will endeavour to update sometime in the next week, so that you aren't left waiting too long to find out what's happening!


	33. Chapter 33

**Dolphin-san:** Hello there! I had the idea for a nice little Kai and Ray scene today on the bus (no not anything sexual, they're just not _there _yet), so when I got home I just sat and wrote till my hands felt like they were falling off. Hope you enjoy this.

**Chapter 33**

The salon was packed to bursting on Monday morning, but one voice was still clearly audible above the rest. Eleanor Slater, a former Tory front-bencher with a grossly inflated sense of her own irresistibility, was making sure everyone knew she was there. Since losing her seat at the last election, Eleanor had swiftly relaunched herself as a fearless radio interviewer, famed for her ability to flirt and simultaneously stick the knife in. There was nothing she was too bashful to say. She particularly relished embarrassing other people in public, and accusing them of being prudes.

She was grotesque, and Ray would have loathed her even if he didn't have a hangover the size of Harrods. He waited for Eleanor to stop booming instructions to her PA into her Dictaphone.

'. . . and firm up that interview with Terry for tomorrow morning. If he's pushed for time, we'll do it in his car between meetings.' Leaving the tape running, she smirked provocatively at Takao's reflection in the mirror. 'It wouldn't be the first time, but don't tell his dull little wife that. Now, what can I do for you, dear?' She swivelled briskly round in her chair, eyeing Ray with unconcealed amusement. 'Are you waiting to ask me something or can you just not remember what you're supposed to be doing next?'

Patronising old cow.

'Tea or coffee?' said Ray.

'Tea.' Eleanor was renowned for her split-second decisions; she didn't hang about. 'Anything, so long as it's herbal.'

Ray wondered if deadly nightshade counted as herbal.



'Oh, and I need some contraception for this afternoon,' Eleanor went on. Delving into her briefcase, she produced a ten-pound note. 'Pop along to the chemist, would you, dear? Pick me up a packet of condoms.' Her strident voice, so used to the tricky acoustics of the House of Commons, effortlessly drowned out a dozen hairdryers. 'Actually, better make that two packets.'

Don't try to embarrass me, thought Ray.

Aloud he said, 'What flavour?'

Oh bum, now he'd probably get the sack.

But when he finally dared to look in the mirror, Takao was carefully cutting the back of Eleanor's hair and doing his level best not to smile.

By the time Ray returned from the chemist, Eleanor had recovered her composure. She opened one of the cellophane-wrapped packets, took out two condoms and tucked them into the back pocket of Ray's midnight blue jeans.

'There you are dear. Be Safe, Be Happy!'

This was the slogan adopted by the government for its latest For-God's-sake-_use_-something campaign.

Ray gazed without enthusiasm at the packet in Eleanor's hand.

Happy? What was that?

Since he was planning on being celibate from now on, he would definitely be safe.

But he had no intention of being happy.

The door swung open behind them as Kai and Tony Vale, loaded with video equipment, arrived in the salon.

Eleanor, a tireless media-whore, perked up at once.

'Everywhere I go, I'm pursued by cameras,' she trilled. Twirling round in her chair, she eyed Kai with greedy approval. 'Now, now, I don't remember fixing this up.' She waved a naughty boy finger at him. 'Which company do you work for, and who told you I'd be here?'

Kai surveyed her, his expression impassive.

'Nobody did. We aren't here to film you.'

Just this once – and despite his cracking headache – Ray could have kissed him.

Witnessing the deflation of the strident ex-MP nobody liked, several other women within earshot sniggered.

'They're making a documentary,' Takao explained to a disbelieving Eleanor, 'about Ray.'

The filming took less than an hour. Afterwards, Tony Vale loaded the equipment into the back of a cab and headed back to the studio. Kai bore Ray off to the coffee bar around the corner and ordered him a hot chocolate.

'So, are you sure you want to do it?'

Ray's glass of hot chocolate was topped with whipped cream and cocoa powder. If he tried to drink it he'd look as if he'd been attacked by the Phantom Flan Flinger.



'Oh yes.' Using his finger, which was on the unsteady side, Ray scooped off the top layer. Halfway to his mouth, the dollop of whipped cream slid free and plopped messily back into his glass.

'Because I can arrange everything,' said Kai. 'But you have to be really sure.'

'Look, I _am_.' Ray wished everyone would stop treating him like an invalid; he was trembly because he had a hangover, not because he was upset. 'Didn't we spend enough time going over this last nigh? Takao's all for it, Max's all for it, it's not going to cost anything because you're going to sell it . . .'

He paused, frowning, and trawled his finger speculatively through the cream mountain once more.

'What?'

'The only thing I don't get is, what's in it for you?'

Kai fiddled with the clasp of his wallet, which was lying on the table. Now how was he meant to answer this one?

Or rather, how was he meant to answer this one without giving himself away completely?

'There's nothing in it for me,' he said at last. 'I just think you deserve to be treated better than the way he's treated you. Max as well,' he added. 'You both deserve better.'

'Do you like Max?' said Ray abruptly. For some reason the question had been praying on his mind all week. 'I mean, do you . . . fancy him?'

Kai almost laughed aloud.

'No. No, of course I don't fancy Max.'

_Next question_, he silently willed Ray to ask.

Instead, Ray let out a yelp as a blob og whipped cream dropped form his finger, landing on the front of his T-shirt.

'Bugger.' Scooping the worst of it off and gazing in dismay at the chocolate-streaked stain, he dragged a crumpled tissue out of the back pocket of his jeans. Something else flew out at the same time, catapulting through the air behind him and landing at the feet of a man engrossed in his copy of _The Times_.

Kai retrieved it while Ray scrubbed energetically at his front with the tissue.

'It's no good, it won't come out. Lucky we've got spares back at the salon.'

'Um, you dropped this.'

The look on Kai's face was to die for. He was trying so hard to appear nonchalant.

'Oh, thanks.' Ray took it from him. 'Always make sure I keep one with me at work.' He patted his pocket. 'After all, you never know who might come into the salon.'

Yes, _yes_, there was that look again . . .

'You are joking,' Kai said finally.

'Of course I'm joking. Ha, you're easily shocked, aren't you?' Beaming, Ray neatly tucked the condom into Kai's wallet, which lay unfastened on the table between them. 'It was a present from Eleanor Slater, if you must know. And now it's yours.'



'Why?' Kai gazed at his wallet in alarm. God, how horrible if using Eleanor Slater's condom meant he had to think of Eleanor Slater. Now there was an effective contraceptive device in a league of its own.

'You may as well have it,' said Ray. 'The way my life's going, I won't be having sex again before I'm eighty.

As they were leaving the coffee bar, Ray's attention was caught by a photograph of Bryan Kutsenov in _The Times_ sports section.

Next to him, Kai was saying, 'Everything that happens in life, it's for the best.'

This was evidently meant to reassure him.

Flick, went the newspaper and Bryan briefly disappeared from view.

'Okay, come on, that's complete cobblers for a start,' Ray retaliated. 'If I ran out into the road now and got knocked down by a bus, what would be so great about that?'

'Okay, stupid remark, forget I said it.' Kai smiled. 'I was just trying to cheer you up.'

'Well, don't. You're useless at it.'

The man holding his _Times_ turned a page and Bryan magically reappeared.

'What are you peering at?'

'Nothing,' Ray said shiftily. But it was too late; Kai had already followed the line of his gaze.

'Bryan Kutsenov? He did pretty well yesterday,' said Kai.

Ray had forgotten all about the Canadian Grand Prix. He'd had other things on his mind.

'Where did he finish?'

'Second.'

'Second? That's brilliant!' Ray's eyes widened with delight. That would really move Bryan up the table . . . heavens, it put him only seven points behind the current leader. Not that he'd been keeping score, of course. Well, not much . . .

'There you go,' Kai observed, his tone dry. 'I knew I could cheer you up.'

**Dolphin-san:** Well, there you go. What do you think is going to be happening next? Oh, this is all so exciting!


	34. Chapter 34

**Dolphin-san: **I'm so sorry, I haven't been keeping up with my writing! I feel terrible about it! My tutors just keep piling on the work though, this is the first free night I've had since the start of term , really. But anyway, to make up for it I'm going to try and spend today and tomorrow writing (I have Wednesdays off, supposedly for studying). I know it won't make up for the lack of updates, but at least I'm still trying.

**Chapter 34**

'I've got mumps,' Ray croaked into the receiver. 'It's awful. I look like a gerbil with bulimia.'

'Mumps!' Hiro sounded horrified. 'I've never had mumps!'

I know that, you berk, thought Ray. Otherwise what would be the point of telling you I've got it?

'Isn't it a nuisance? I won't be able to see you for a whole week –'

'Longer than that,' Hiro cut in, concerned for certain parts of his anatomy. Didn't mumps cause them to swell up agonisingly, like footballs?

Ray rushed to reassure him. 'Oh no, six days is fine. I checked with the doctor. Just as well, too, otherwise I'd have to miss the wedding of the year.'

In the privacy of his own living room, Hiro stuck his hand down the front of his Nike jogging pants, making sure his testicles weren't quietly swelling up behind his back . . . so to speak.

'Wedding?' No, thank God, they seemed okay. 'Why, who's getting married?'

'Oh, it's _so_ exciting.' Ray's voice was croaky but otherwise he seemed cheerful enough. 'You'll never guess!'

'Not your friend Bev. Don't tell me she's bulldozed some poor sod into marrying her at last.'

'No.' Ray sounded hurt. 'Oh Hiro, don't say it like that, we've just got engaged! You sound do anti-weddings.

Hiro grinned.

'Only when they involve saying "I do" to Bev. So who is it then?'

'Takao and James. Next Sunday at the Salinger Hotel in Kensington. Can you imagine?' sighed Ray. 'They've only known each other a month, but they just couldn't wait. Isn't it the most romantic thing you ever heard?'

'Your boss is marrying James Thompson?' Hiro marvelled. 'Where's the actual service being held?'

'Right there in the hotel! Oh, and you should see the guest list,' Ray exclaimed. 'Celebrities flying in from all over the world . . . I mean, are there any famous people Takao _doesn't_ know?'

'And you've been invited,' said Hiro, trying not to sound too eaten up with envy. God, what he wouldn't give to go along to a wedding like that, to rub shoulders with rock stars and actors and models . . . well, if he wore sixteen-inch platforms he could rub shoulders with models . . .

In his bedroom, Ray covered the receiver and mouthed, 'Jealous,' at Max.

'Max mouthed, 'Daisy,' back at him.

'Oh yes, and Daisy Schofield's going to be there.' Enjoying himself immensely, Ray pictured the expression on Hiro's face.

'Daisy Schofield,' Hiro echoed, unable to hide his disappointment. This was so unfair.

Ray paused. Timing, after all, was everything.

'So you'll be able to meet her at long last.'

Hiro digested these words.

'What?'

'You're invited too, dopey!'

'Really? Hey, great.'

He was grinning uncontrollably, Ray could tell. And trying so hard to sound cool. Bless his heart.

Bastard.

'So don't forget, will you? Make a note of it in your diary. Midday, next Sunday. Wear your best suit. Oh,' Ray added as an afterthought, 'and don't breath a word about this to anyone. We're talking Top Secret here. Takao and James want total privacy – the last thing they need is for the place to be hijacked by photographers.'

'Oh, well, yes, I can understand that. Of course,' said Hiro in a trustworthy voice. 'I won't blab. Um . . . who's going to be the best man?'

Ray thought for a moment.

'Can't remember. I think Takao said something about Mick.'

Mick?

Mick!

Deeply, _deeply_ impressed, Hiro swallowed and said, 'Hucknall or Jagger?'

'Oh, one of them, I don't know,' Ray replied carelessly. 'Does it matter?'

_Christ,_ no.

'I could get myself a new suit,' said Hiro, determined to sound casual.

'A new suit?' Ray waggled his eyebrows at Max. 'That's an idea. Look, sorry to keep on, but Takao's drummed it into all of us. You won't accidentally let slip about this to anyone, will you?'

The temptation was too great. Leaning across, Max listened to his husband's reassuring reply.

'I won't breath a word,' he heard Hiro say. 'Darling, you know you can trust me.'

When he had hung up the phone, Ray bounced off his bed. He rummaged amongst the tangle of necklaces in a blue china bowl on his dressing table.

'What?' said Max, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

The copper pot-bellied pig, designed to hang on a leather strap and worn as a choker, went sailing up into the air.

'He said he wouldn't breath a word.' Ray pointed. 'See? A flying pig.'

There was a gentle thud as at landed on the rug next to Max. Picking up the pig, he ran his finger over the little upturned snout.

'Where did you get this? He's brilliant.'

Actually, he was rather brilliant, Ray modestly acknowledged. Ugly and cross-eyed and with one leg longer than the rest, but with bags of quirky character. And hey, no one's perfect.

'I made him. Years ago, at school,' he told Max. 'I joined the metalwork class because I was in love with this boy called Denzil.'

'And did you end up going out with him?' Max gave up on his boring pelvic floor exercises. Eagerly he said, 'Was he your first boyfriend?'

'Oh yes. And it changed Denzil's life forever.' Ray rolled his eyes. 'He was expelled a year later for seducing the metalwork teacher.' He shrugged and held out his hands. 'What can I tell you? The story of my life. This is how much luck I have with men.'

'Well,' said Max. 'I know that feeling.'

Ray watched him pull open the neck of his lime-green cotton sweatshirt, peer down at his stomach and reach for the round cushion on the chair behind him.

'Um . . . what are you doing?'

'I need to be bigger for next Sunday.'

Max shoved the cushion up under his sweatshirt, unfolded his legs and solemnly studied his reflection in the dressing-table mirror.

'I don't know.' Ray was doubtful.

'Too much?'

'You look about fourteen months pregnant.'

The weird thing was, it actually suited Max. When you had blonde hair piled up with combs, and golden skin, and blue eyes that sparkled like the sea, Ray realised, you could get away with almost anything, even stuffing a cushion the size of a sofa down your front.

Max thought he looked a fright, of course, but only because it was the automatic reaction of people everywhere to putting on weight. Plus, his self-confidence had taken a complete hammering when Hiro had left.

Which couldn't help.

'That's better.' Ray nodded approvingly when the big cushion was swapped for her rolled-up denim shirt. 'Size-wise, anyway. I'm not sure about those bits of collar showing through. Looks as if you're about to give birth to something with huge pointy ears.'

Max pulled out the shirt and tossed it back on Ray's waiting-to-be-ironed, hopefully-before-Christmas pile.

'I can't wait for next Sunday. God, I hope Hiro buys himself a really expensive new suit.' He looked at Ray. 'Nothing can go wrong, can it?'

'Nothing.' Ray broke into a huge grin; he was looking forward to it too. 'Just so long as he doesn't go down with mumps.

'Flo? Dancing Queen, is that you?'

Florence, who had been wrestling with the _Telegraph_ crossword, lit up at the sound of Tom Barrett's gravelly voice.

'Tom , you wicked old man! Are you ringing to tell me the date of the wedding? Hang on, give me a hand with this stinking crossword first. Attempt to hide donkeys in mountain slope before noon, eleven letters, something c, something e, something something something –'

'Haven't the foggiest, but I've got one for you. Old man abandoned by nubile young lassie –'

'Oh, Tom, _no_,' Florence exclaimed, cottoning on at once. 'Not Maria. Don't tell me she's dumped you.'

Tom chuckled at her dismay.

'Well, it was pretty mutual. Maria's a sweet girl, the sex was great, but the novelty soon wears off. All she wanted to do was watch _Home and Away_ and bloody _Neighbours_. She speaks broken English with an Australian accent. Oh, it was fun while it lasted, Flo, but it wasn't love. She moved out last week, and the _relief_ . . .'

Florence relaxed. He certainly didn't sound heartbroken.

'Were is she now, gone back to Thailand?'

'God, no! Moved in with the fellow next door.' Tom barked with laughter. 'Handy, really. She pops round every evening with a hot meal for me. Even gives me the odd massage if my back's playing up.'

'Humph,' said Florence. 'Being fond of _Neighbours_ is one thing, but isn't that taking it a bit far?'

'No ill feelings,' Tom pronounced cheerfully. 'It didn't work out, that's all. And I'm keeping myself busy, still playing golf . . . just joined the local theatre group, matter of fact. Great fun.'

He and Louisa had always been keen on amateur dramatics, Florence recalled. Acting had been their great passion. It was something else Tom had given up when his wife had died.

'I'll never forget that production you put on in Malta.' As she spoke, the germ of an idea began to unfold. 'You were a fine Professor Higgins.'

'I had a fine Eliza,' Tom replied fondly, remembering Louisa. 'And there's something else I haven't forgotten about that show.' His tone grew stern. 'You fell asleep.'

'Never mind that now,' said Florence. 'What are you doing on Sunday?'

'Not watching endless videos of _Home and Away_, that's for sure.' Tom sounded immeasurably relieved. 'Why?'

'We're putting on a small production of our own.' Feeling like a movie mogul, Florence lit a cigarette and blew a row of smoke rings . . . damn, it really should be a Monte Cristo cigar. 'You'd fit the bill perfectly for the role I have in mind,' she told Tom, puff puff. 'And I promise not to fall asleep.'

**Dolphin-san:** Once again, I'm so sorry for making you have to wait so long for an update. I'll work extra hard on the next chapter to get it up tomorrow, okay?


	35. Chapter 35

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there, everyone. I know I didn't update yesterday when I said I would, but I'm hoping that this chapter will make up for it.

**Chapter 35**

'You've been invited to James Thompson's wedding?'

Adrian stared at Hiro in disbelief.

'Sshh, keep your voice down,' Hiro hissed, thought the pub was almost deserted. He tried not to smirk with pride, but it was impossible. Just as it had been impossible to keep the news to himself. Still, it wasn't as if he was blabbing it all around town. Ade was his best friend. He knew he could trust him. That was the whole point of best friends.

Adrian whistled, impressed.

'You're going up in the world, lucky sod. Who else'll be there?'

Triumphantly, Hiro reeled off the list of names Ray had given him. Ade gulped them down like lager after a lamb vindaloo.

'Shit! You'll be in _Hello!_ magazine.'

'I told you, no press.'

'What, you mean nobody knows it's going to happen? That could be worth something,' Ade exclaimed. 'A tip-off to one of the tabloids . . . they pay good money for that kind of info. Who's Buzz Baxter working for now?' he went on abruptly. 'The _Sun_, the _Mirror_ – one of the tabloids – a scoop like that'd be right up his street.'

Buzz Baxter was an old schoolfriend they still bumped into from time to time. Hiro's forehead creased with doubt.

'But they don't want any publicity, do they?'

'Come on! One photographer, how terrible would that be? Give Buzz a ring,' Adrian urged. 'Earn yourself a few easy grand.'

Regretfully, Hiro tilted his chair back on its hind legs.

'Ray would go berserk.'

'Sometimes I wonder about you. Buzz wouldn't reveal his sources, would he? And Ray doesn't know that you know Buzz. Simple,' said Adrian, spreading his hands. 'Home and dry. I'm telling you, mate, you're mad if you don't.'

They had another drink. Slowly, Hiro allowed Adrian to overcome his reluctance.

'He'd ask me. I'd have to lie to him.'

'Oh, and that would never do, would it?' Adrian jeered. 'Keeping the truth from Ray.'

Hiro's smile was rueful. He didn't mention that he already had Buzz Baxter's phone number tucked away in his wallet. Tipping Buzz off had, naturally, occurred to him as soon as Ray had stressed – rather insultingly, he felt – the secrecy of the occasion. But this way, his conscious was clear. It had been Adrian's idea, not his own. He was being conned, pressured, practically _forced_ into going along with it.

Anyway, as Ade kept reminding him, nobody would ever know.

Thousands of pounds, in exchange for a simple phone call.

In all honesty, who could resist that?

Ray, ringing him on Sunday morning, sounded breathless and distracted.

'Darling, I'll have to meet you there. I'm helping with the hairstyling. You can make your own way to the hotel, can't you?'

The Salinger, in Kensington, was one of London's classiest and most discreet hotels.

'As long as they let me in,' said Hiro. It was all right for celebrities, with their instantly recognisable faces, but he would be turning up alone, without so much as a printed invitation. So, for that matter, would Buzz.

'Don't panic. Security will ask for the password,' Ray explained. 'You have to tell them you're here to see Mr O'Hare.'

'O'Hare.' Hiro acknowledged the feeble pun with a grimace.

'Then you have to sing "Here Comes the Bride".'

'What!'

'It's a two-part password,' Ray told him. 'You don't have to sing the whole song, just the first two lines. Then they'll let you through.'

'God.' Hiro pulled a face; he wasn't much of a singer at the best of times.

'Have you missed me?'

'Of course I've missed you. Are you sure you're feeling better?'

'Oh, tons. Face all back to normal.' Ray certainly sounded cheerful enough. 'Don't worry, I won't let you down.'

Hiro smiled. He really had missed him.

'What are you wearing?'

'Boxers, grey T-shirt with a picture of Screaming Lord Sutch on the front –'

'I meant to the wedding.'

'Oh, a new suit. You'll love it!'

'So long as it doesn't have a picture of Screaming Lord Sutch on the front.'

'Hiro, I have to go, we're going to be rushed off our feet for the next couple of hours. See you at the Salinger, okay?'

'Twelve o'clock. I won't be late.'

'Blimey, better not be!'

'I love you,' Hiro blurted out.

There was a brief pause.

'I love you too.'

'When security stop you, you tell them you're there to see Mr O'Hare,' Hiro explained importantly.

'Right.'

'Then you have to sing the first two lines of "Here Comes the Bride".'

'Is this a wind up?'

'No.'

'Can't I just hum it?'

'No!'

'Fucking celebrities,' sighed Buzz.

'There he is,' Max squealed delightedly, peeping through the curtains down to the street below. 'Buzz Baxter, lovely, lovely chap. Danced with me at our wedding reception, tried to unzip my trousers on the dance floor and asked if I'd like to have sex with him in the back of his Austin Montego.'

Ray peered over Max's shoulder as Buzz, glimpsing the camera under his baggy jacket as he fished out his wallet to pay off the cab. Moments later, Buzz smoothed the jacket back into place. The camera, like a concealed weapon, was undetectable. As he turned to mount the white marble steps, another gleaming black cab drew up behind him.

'How did you know Hiro would tip him off?'

Max, drily, said, 'I know Hiro.'

At that moment the door of the cab swung open and Ray's head began to swim. Oh God, this was actually going to happen, it was really really about to happen. Just for a second, Ray was choked with sorrow. So much for happy-ever-after. How could he have made such a monumental mistake?

No, no I _mustn't_ feel sorry for myself, there's no time for that now. Be brave, be strong.

'New suit,' Max observed with satisfaction. 'Let's hope it cost a bomb.' He took a deep breath, adjusted the padding beneath his uniform and spun Ray round do fast he almost fell. 'Right, the weasel has landed.' Firmly, he propelled Ray in the direction of the blue ballroom's double doors. 'Go, go, go!'

The security man stepped forward, blocking Hiro's path through the foyer. Hiro knew he was security because he was wearing Blues Brothers dark glasses and an ill-fitting black suit.

'May I help you sir?'

'I'm here to see Mr O'Hare,' said Hiro.

The Blues Brother nodded impassively.

And waited.

'Um . . . "Here comes the bride,"' Hiro sang in a quavering voice. He felt simultaneously foolish and important. '"All . . . all dressed in whi-ite . . ."'

_White_ came out horribly off-key, which was embarrassing.

The Blues Brother didn't smile. He nodded again, grimly, and stepped to one side.

His black suit was too tight for him. Hiro, squaring his shoulders and instinctively straightening his own jacket, wondered if the man had any idea how it felt to wear a suit that had cost eight hundred quid.

He checked his cuffs, then his watch. Five to twelve.

Mustn't be late.

When Hiro was out of sight, Tony Vale removed his Blues Brothers glasses – Camden Market, £1.50 – before turning and switching off the video camera concealed within the pedestal flower arrangement behind him. Then he headed for the staircase. Wouldn't want to miss out on all the fun.

The double doors were closed. Takao Kinomiya was pacing up and down outside like a nervous father-to-be.

'Hi. Hiro Granger.' As he held out his perspiring-with-excitement hand, Hiro wondered how much Takao's suit had cost. 'Congratulations.'

'Ray's fiancé. Nice to meet you at last.' Takao nodded and smiled, shaking the outstretched hand. 'I have to congratulate you too.'

'Is everyone in there?' Hiro jerked his head in the direction of the double doors.

'Oh yes, all ready and waiting. Right,' said Takao, taking a deep breath. 'We'd better go through.'

For the first few moments, as the heavy doors swung shut behind them and he found himself being led up the central isle by Takao, Hiro thought he must be in the wrong room.

He knew he couldn't be, because he was with Takao. But where, in that case, were all the celebrities?

No Kylie, no Daisy Schofield, no stars of stage and screen . . . and what was more, not a Mick in sight.

Bewildered, Hiro wondered why Takao hadn't seemed to notice that something was seriously amiss. His confusion increased as he recognised James Thompson sitting two rows from the front. He was wearing jeans and a shirt, and Doc Marten's.

And over there, in her wheelchair, was that old witch, Florence . . .

Hiro's neck muscles had by this time assumed a life of their own; his head swivelled from side to side as he spotted first Bev, in a hat the size of a kitchen table, then Buzz, looking as bemused as himself. Towards the back of the room he recognised Kai Hiwatari, but the dozen or so other guests were all total strangers.

For Christ's sake, where's _Ray_?

'Over here, please.' The vicar indicated to Takao and Hiro where he wished them to stand.

'You don't mind do you?' murmured Takao.

In a daze, Hiro shook his head. The Micks had evidently let Takao down. He needed a best man. Jesus, what was James Thompson thinking of, getting married in Doc Marten's?

Music flooded the room, making Hiro jump. From hidden speakers poured the opening bars of the Wedding March. Next to him, a muscle twitched in Takao's jaw as he turned in response to the sound of the double doors swishing open.

Hiro turned too.

Ray, all in white, stood framed in the doorway.

Ray's golden eyes shone. Grinning broadly, he moved up the makeshift isle towards Hiro.

The music stopped.

Flinging out his arms, throwing them around Hiro before he could react, Ray cried, 'Surprise!'

The icy trickle of anti-freeze seeped through Hiro's veins. Around him, the room erupted with laughter and applause. He felt his heart thudding like a tom-tom in his chest. It was the nightmare to end all nightmares and he could barely breath.

'I don't . . . I don't understand.'

Hiro stammered the words out at last, understanding only too well but playing desperately for time.

'I love you. You love me.' Ray's cheeks were flushed with elation. 'It's what we both want, so why wait? I've never seen the point of long engagements. Oh darling, we're getting married . . . today! Right here, right now!'

Hiro couldn't bear to look at him. Whichever way he turned, he saw someone else he didn't want to see . . . the vicar's benign, smiling face . . . Kai Hiwatari with a video camera, capturing every moment on film . . . Takao Kinomiya searching his pocket and pulling out two wedding rings . . .

Could there be an experience more excruciating than this?

Ray, reaching for his hands, laughed and said, 'Darling, you're shaking like a leaf. Don't worry, I've thought of everything.' Leaning closer, he added triumphantly, 'I smuggled you birth certificate out of your flat last week.'

The ironic thing was, Hiro _would _have married Ray. Like a shot. But what was the average sentence for bigamy? He might love Ray, but he couldn't face going to jail.

'Could we have some quiet, please?' The vicar raised his hands to the boisterous congregation and nodded genially at Hiro. 'If you're ready, maybe we can proceed.'

Hiro's mouth opened and closed like a cod's. No words came out. He wondered about slumping to the ground and feigning unconsciousness.

'You are happy, I take it, for the ceremony to go ahead?' The vicar lifted bushy, enquiring eyebrows at him.

Hiro stared back in horror.

'Darling?' Anxiety creased Ray's forehead. 'Please say something. You're not about to turn me down, are you?'

Oh God, how could this be happening to him? How could he tell him?

Ray's bottom lip began to tremble.

'Hiro? What's wrong? Don't you want to marry me?'

Ray would never forgive him. Never. Oh, _shit_, why did this have to happen to him?

'Well,' declared Florence, her throaty voice carrying effortlessly across the room, 'this is in danger of becoming embarrassing. Come on, Hiro, let's get this show on the road! The sooner we start, the sooner it's over with, then we can all have a drink.'

A drink, God, what he wouldn't give for a drink right now. For that matter, what he wouldn't give for a bolt of lightning to crash through the ceiling and knock Florence – interfering old buzzard – out of her wheelchair.

Better still, Hiro thought in desperation, one to flatten me.

Kai Hiwatari was still filming. Turning to look at him, Hiro forced himself to speak.

'Switch it off,' he croaked. 'Please.'

'I can't do that.' Kai sounded surprised. 'This is the happiest day of Ray's life.'

Ray, no longer smiling, said, 'I'm beginning to wonder. Is this the happiest day of my life, Hiro?' Ray's eyes bored into him. 'Is it?'

All heads swivelled in unison towards the double doors as they swung open. Desperately praying for some form – any form – of reprieve, Hiro's head swivelled too.

A waiter in a black uniform and a white apron backed through the doors carrying a tray of glasses. He turned, balancing the tray against his heavily pregnant stomach, and surveyed the assembled guests.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd have finished by now. I was told –'

Max's voice broke off as he saw Hiro.

Paralysed, Hiro stared back at him. He was having an out-of-body experience. This couldn't be happening to him.

'What's going on here?' Max's incredulous gaze flickered from the vicar to Ray to Hiro. 'You can't marry him.'

Ray's eyes were like saucers. Hotly he demanded, 'Why can't I?'

Max put the tray down carefully on the side table beside him. He smoothed his apron over his swollen stomach – Jesus, Hiro wondered wildly, how had he gotten that big so soon? – and clamly shrugged.

'Because I'm his husband.'

**Dolphin-san:** Well there you go, bet you weren't expecting that! I hope that this has somewhat made up for the lack of updates and can keep you interested in this story till the next one. Don't worry, I still have plenty of ideas, just little time to type them up.

Ja ne.


	36. Chapter 36

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there all. I've decided that I'm going to try and write a little something every time I have a free minute, even if that means I have to write some in college and send it back to my home computer. Oh, and until I can figure out what's been going wrong with the line break thing, seeing as how it looks fine on my laptop and only goes bizarre when I upload it to , I'm going to be using this, **KHRK-KHRK**, unless I find something better, though I'll probably keep that.

Any way, on with the story. Enjoy.

**KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK**

**Chapter 36**

'What the fuck is going on here?' marvelled Buzz Baxter as Hiro stormed out of the ballroom and the place erupted once more. He nudged the tall girl who was crying with laughter next to him. 'What's going on?'

Bev wiped her streaming eyes with a tissue.

'You're the journalist, can't you work it out?'

Hiro's husband Max was by this time hugging the boy in the white suit. The noisy old biddy in the wheelchair was wearing the vicar's dog-collar. And the vicar, now minus his dog-collar, was busy cracking open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. When the girl next to him rushed up to join them, Buzz went along too.

Whooping at the sight of Bev, Ray hurled his bouquet into the air. Automatically Bev caught it, then, horrified, let it drop, as if it were crawling with maggots.

'That's not fair,' she wailed. 'You didn't get married! Now you've probably given me a thousand years bad luck.'

'I almost got married,' said Ray. 'For a few seconds there, I thought he was going to go through with it.'

Max, his waiter's cap askew, nodded cheerfully at Buzz Baxter.

'Hi, Buzz, sorry you didn't get what you came for. I hope you didn't give Hiro any money upfront.'

Buzz grinned; he'd always fancied Max. He liked him even more now he knew he had guts.

'You set the whole thing up.'

'Well, it was a joint effort.'

'Quite a lot of effort.'

'Worth it, though,' Max said with relish. 'Worth every minute, just to see the look on his face.'

Buzz shook his head in admiration. Hiro would never live this down.

'And if he'd gone ahead with the ceremony, you'd have -?'

'Made my entrance,' Max supplied, 'at the crucial point.'

Tom Barrett, handing out glasses of champagne, said, 'Pity he didn't, I was looking forward to that bit.' He cleared his throat and intoned solemnly, '"If anyone here present knows of any reason why these two men should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, they should speak now . . ."'

He paused dramatically, and Max mimed bursting through the door. Brightly Max explained, 'That's where I would have come in.'

'Isn't he marvellous?' Florence patted Tom Barrett's arm with pride. 'What a performance, better than Donald Sinden any day.' Teasingly, she tugged his wide black sleeve. 'This cassock suits you, too. I've always had a thing for men in uniforms.'

Buzz wondered how many gaskets his boss was going to blow when he went back to the newspaper offices without a story. Ah well, sod it. He gulped down a brimming glass of champagne; may as well make the most of the free booze.

'So who's footing the bill for all this?' He held out his glass for a swift refill.

Ray's mouth twitched.

'Hiro is,' he joked. 'Well, inadvertently.'

'Blimey.'

Behind Ray, Kai was packing the video camera back into its case. Ray gestured towards it.

'We filmed the whole thing. There's a new prime-time TV series going out in the autumn, called _Sweet Revenge_. People send in home videos and they pay five thousand pounds –'

'I know, I've heard about it. This is great.' Buzz started to laugh. Turning to Kai, he said, 'I hope you remembered to take the lens cap off.'

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The party spilled out into the walled garden at the rear of the hotel. Almost giving a couple of ancient residents heart attacks, Ray paused at the top of the steps and took off his borrowed white suit, stepping out of it to reveal the orange vest and mauve shorts beneath. The next minute he was splashing around in the ornate Italian fountain with Buzz.

Takao spotted Max sitting on a bench with a plate of coronation chicken from the restaurant. Joining him, he observed, 'You've changed, too. Did I miss it?'

The black and white waiters uniform had been replaced by a floaty shirt the colour of cinnamon and faded, loose-fitting jeans, and his golden hair, no longer tied back, tumbled around his shoulders.

'That would have really finished them off.' Pulling a face, Max nodded at the elderly residents, who were still looking stunned. He had limited exposure of his own unlovely body to the confines of the downstairs loo.

'Pretty colour, it suits you,' said Takao.

The shirt was ancient. Flustered by the compliment, Max attempted to cover the darns in the worn cotton, then realised that Takao was watching him with amusement. Giving in, he laughed and held up his plate of coronation chicken.

'At least I'm perfectly co-ordinated.'

'Until you eat it.'

'For about the next three minutes, then.' Ruefully, Max gazed down at his stomach. 'I can't stop eating. It's scary, having the appetite of a prop forward and being the shape of a rugby ball.'

Takao didn't think it was scary. Accustomed to the finicky eating habits of the models he'd spent the last few years knocking around with, it was a real breath of fresh air. He liked the way Max ate with such evident enjoyment, forking up the tender chicken and licking mayonnaise from his fingers. This was how eating should be, after all. You were meant to enjoy it.

Last week, Takao had been cutting the hair of a knock-kneed, chain-smoking sixteen-year-old sent to him by one of the more ruthless agencies. When he caught her scrutinising the wording on the back of her cigarette packet, he had said, 'They damage your health.'

The girl, blinking nervously up at him, replied, 'I don't care about that, I was checking they don't have any calories.'

'Here comes James,' said Max. 'Poor thing, he looks jet-lagged.'

Privately, Takao thought it was impossible to tell. The half-closed eyes and dazed expression were pretty much a permanent feature. All the models were wearing them this season. He'd tried teasing James about it, but he hadn't got the joke. Beautiful James might be, Takao thought with a regretful smile, but a sense of humour wasn't his strong point.

He had persuaded James to come along with him today because his frequent trips abroad meant there time together was limited.

And about to become more so, Takao thought sadly, realising that yet another hollow relationship was ready to bite the dust. Why did he do it? What was the point of getting involved with these boys in the first place?

But he already knew the answer to that one.

Basically, depressingly – like Everest, only skinnier – because they were there.

'Hi,' said James, coiling his body on to the wooden arm of the bench next to Takao. 'Can we go now?'

Max had finished his chicken. Takao took the empty plate from him.

'I was just about to fetch Max a piece of raspberry gateau. Shall I get you one too?'

James' eyelids flickered briefly, acknowledging the so-called humour of this suggestion.

'No thanks. The wedding thing's over. Why can't we go?'

'We're celebrating.'

'I don't know anyone here.'

'You know Ray,' said Takao. 'Go and dance in the fountain with him.' _Please_, he thought, silently willing him to laugh and kick off his shoes. I'd love it if you did that.

Max saw the blank expression on James' sculpted face.

'Why?'

'You might enjoy it.'

James looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

'I'd get wet.'

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The Salinger Hotel was famous for its Sunday-afternoon tea dances. Inside, the orchestra played sedate numbers from the twenties and thirties, and elegantly dressed couples moved decorously around the polished dance floor. Outside, in the garden, Ray danced – rather less elegantly – with Tom Barrett.

'We're raising a few eyebrows,' Tom told Ray, glancing up at the windows. 'Monocles are popping out as we speak.'

'That's because I look like a tart, and you're dressed as a vicar.'

'My dear, I'm the envy of everyone in that ballroom.'

Waltzing for all he was worth, Ray said, 'Oh Tom, aren't you lovely? Why can't I meet someone as nice as you, only forty years younger?'

Tom shouted with laughter.

'God, I'm sorry,' mumbled Ray. 'I suppose I just answered my own question. A walking disaster, that's me.' Stepping backwards instead of forwards, he pulled a face. 'Not to mention a waltzing one.'

'That's no way to speak,' Tom chided. You're not a disaster.'

'I am.'

'Refreshingly honest, maybe.' Amused, Tom glanced over at Florence. 'Can't think where you get it from.'

'Poor Florence. I feel guilty, twirling away while she's stuck in her chair.'

'I wouldn't give much for your chances if she heard you calling her poor Florence.' Tom's smile was fond. 'Good old Flo, she was quite something in her day.'

'She still is,' said Ray. 'And I wouldn't give much for _your_ chances if she heard you calling her old.'

Tom looked thoughtful.

'Can she stand at all?'

'Oh yes, with support.'

They grinned at each other.

'Dare you,' said Ray.

'Done.'

Florence looked up in alarm as Tom, his vicar's robes billowing and his manner purposeful, approached her.

'You're not leaving already?'

'I am not. I've come to ask for the pleasure of the next dance.'

Astonished, Florence said, 'With who?'

'You, you daft woman. And it's with _whom_.'

'Pah! You're the daft one, Tom Barrett,' Florence snorted, 'if you think I'd let you fling me round in this chair like a child let loose with a supermarket trolley. Ridiculous, that's how we'd look –'

'Not in the chair.' Tom shook his head. 'You can stand, I checked with Ray. And if I can haul a set of clubs round eighteen holes,' he held out his arms, 'I'm sure I can manage you.'

'Lovely turn of phrase you have there,' grumbled Florence. 'Makes me sound like a sack of turnips.'

Tom smiled.

'Turnips are quieter. Turnips don't argue.'

'Go and dance with a turnip then.'

Evocative music drifted through the open French windows as, inside the ballroom, the orchestra struck up the next tune. Irritatingly, it was one of Florence's all-time favourites.

'I'd rather dance with you,' Tom said calmly. 'Much rather.'

'I don't do the tarantella anymore.' Florence's tone was truculent. 'I can't twirl.'

Sensing weakness, Tom raised an enquiring eyebrow.

'Can you shuffle?'

'Oh, I can shuffle.'

He nodded with satisfaction, reaching down and clasping his arms firmly around Florence's waist.

'That'll do.'

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'Fancy a bop?' said Buzz.

'Why not?' Max shook back his hair and stood up. 'But if you try to unzip my jeans, I shall have to kill you.'

Buzz grinned. Max was alright.

'You're a pregnant guy. I do have some scruples, you know.'

'You amaze me,' said Max.

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It was the sight of Florence and Tom dancing together that finally did it for Ray. One minute he was sitting kicking his heels happily in the fountain and the next there was a lump the size of the Rock of Gibraltar battling to burst out of his chest.

Shuffle, shuffle went Tom's feet, in perfect time with Florence's. He was smiling down at her, saying something and making her chuckle. And Florence was clearly enjoying herself; that look on her face said it all. With her new short hairstyle, her jaunty hat and flowing dress of violet silk splashed with crimson orchids, she looked fabulous. And so happy Ray wanted to cry.

The next moment, to his horror, he realised that he actually _was_ crying. Hot tears were spilling over on to his cheeks like lava out of a volcano and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Oh God, please don't let anyone see me like this . . .

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Tom Barrett, his snowy surplice billowing in the breeze, was dancing with Bev. Max had been persuaded to take a twirls round the garden with Tony Vale, still in his Blues Brothers suit and glasses but now wearing, as a finishing touch, Florence's flower-bedecked velvet hat.

'He isn't inside,' said Kai. 'I can't find him anywhere.'

Takao frowned.

'He wouldn't have left without telling us. And his bag's still here.'

James, busy lighting up yet another cigarette, said vaguely, 'When I went to the loo earlier, there was someone crying in one of the cubicles.'

Takao stared at him.

'Was it Ray?'

'How would I know? All I could see was his feet. Green converse with purple glitter.' James exhaled a stream of smoke and pulled a face. I mean, totally passé.'

'Those were Ray's totally passé shoes,' Takao said furiously. 'Why didn't you tell us earlier?'

James looked amazed.

'Because you didn't ask.'

**KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK-KHRK**

**Dolphin-san:** Well, there you go, a nice long new chapter for you. Don't worry, though, I still have a few ideas up my sleeve for this.


	37. Chapter 37

**Dolphin-san:** Hey there all! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I'm hoping that this chapter will make up for it a little bit.

**Chapter 37**

It was a good job the lid of the loo seat was down. Otherwise Ray, sitting cross-legged and hugging an empty bottle to his chest, would have fallen in.

'Come on, Ray, I know it's you. Open the door this minute.'

It was Kai's voice. And he sounded bossy.

Bossy bloody Kai Hiwatari, thought Ray, tipping his head back and draining the last few lukewarm drops of wine. Well, Kai can be bossy all he wants. Ray wasn't scared.

He wasn't about to open the door, either.

'Ray.'

'Kai,' Ray mimicked.

'Still alive, then.' Kai sounded relieved. 'Unlock the door, Ray.' Pause. 'We were worried about you.'

'No need to worry about me.' Ray shook his head with such vigour he almost slid off the wooden loo seat. Tut tut, very highly polished, exceedingly dangerous . . . I could sue the hotel for that. Regaining his balance, Ray glared at the door.

'Unlock the door, there's a good boy.' Kai sounded amused.

'God,' grumbled Ray. 'Nag, nag, nag. Oh, and by the way . . . no, I won't.'

'Fine.'

Moments later, he let out a squeal as Kai dropped over the partition dividing Ray's cubicle from the one next to it.

'Who do you think you are,' Ray demanded indignantly, 'Milk Tray Man?'

'Who do you think you are,' Kai countered, 'the latest recruit to the Oliver Reed School of Drinking?'

Ray tried to leap to his feet, but twenty minutes of sitting cross-legged on a loo seat had seized up his knees and ankles completely. Whimpering in pain, he was forced to hang on clumsily to Kai's arms for support as Florence had clung to Tom earlier.

'Ow, ow, my feet, _ow_ –' yelped Ray, his eyes screwed up in agony. The next second he felt himself being lifted up, swung round and plonked down again. The pain had stopped, though the soles of his feet still buzzed with pins and needles. Cautiously opening his eyes, he realised that his suspicions were correct. Kai was now sitting on the toilet seat lid and he was sitting on Kai. Ray could smell Kai's aftershave. Close up like this – and Ray had certainly never been this close before – he couldn't help noticing Kai had really, _really_ nice ears/

Well, ear. From this angle he could only see the left one. But the other one – Mr Right, Ray thought with a stifled giggle – was probably just as attractive in its own way.

'What?' said Kai.

Better not tell him. He might think Ray was weird.

'I feel like a ventriloquist's dummy.'

Kai waggled his fingers.

'Look, no hands.'

Kai was humouring him, Ray realised. Being kind. Overall, he thought he preferred Kai bossy – at least that way he could fight back.

For a terrible second, Ray thought he was going to burst into tears again. As if his eyes weren't swollen and piggy enough.

Kai, glimpsing Ray's expression, gave his waist a brief, meant-to-be-sympathetic squeeze.

'Don't,' warned Ray. His lower lip trembled.

'It's okay to cry. If that's what you want to do, just go ahead,' Kai reassured him.

'Stop it. Please don't be nice to me.' Ray felt his eyes start to fill.

Kai gave his waist another squeeze. Ray's ribcage began to shudder. Oh, the humiliation, this wasn't fair.

'Can't you just say something horrible?' He blurted the words out in desperation. 'Be sarcastic? Give me a slap and tell me to grow up?'

In reply, Kai reached up and smoothed Ray's ruffled hair. His dark eyes were serious. For the first time ever, Kai wasn't teasing him.

'Bastard,' muttered Ray. 'You're no help at all.'

Once he'd stared, it was impossible to stop. This time he didn't have to pretend he was crying for Florence and Tom. These tears, held back for too long, were all for himself.

Kai said nothing, he just held Ray and stroked his back and let the torrent of sobbing run its necessary course.

It felt like hours to Ray, but when he finally hiccupped to a halt and glimpsed Kai's watch as he wiped Ray's eyes, he saw it hadn't been that long at all. Less than ten minutes.

Still, he'd managed to honk and bawl his way through an entire loo roll, which was something. Quite an achievement, actually, in ten minutes.

'Better now?' said Kai at last.

Ray nodded and blew his reddened nose. Reluctantly he muttered, 'Am I supposed to say thank you now?'

'Don't let it trouble you.' Kai grinned at him. 'Happy to help.'

Ray swayed a bit on Kai's lap. He felt light-headed with the relief of getting all that pent-up emotion out of his system. Thanks to the amount of wine he'd guzzled in a short space of time, he also needed, quite badly, to pee.

'Um, could you go now?'

Kai heaved a dramatic sigh.

'That's right, use me and toss me aside like an old Kleenex. Blub all over me, soak my shirt –'

'If you carry on much longer, it'll be more than your shirt that gets soaked,' said Ray.

'Ah. Right.'

'Do I look terrible?' Ray blinked and rubbed his face, which felt salty and raw.

'Not your best, I have to say.'

'Could you call a cab?' Ray sensed his face was beyond repair. 'I think I just want to go home.'

'I'll take you.'

'Make my excuses to everyone. Don't tell them I was crying,' he added hurriedly.

'I'll say you're as pissed as a parrot. Again.'

Ray nodded; that was far less humiliating.

'Thanks.'

Bruce had to attend a trade fair in Bristol on Monday morning. He parked a short distance from Florence's house on Sunday afternoon, not particularly looking forward to seeing his mother but needing to hand the keys over to Max so that tomorrow morning he could open up the shop.

In the event, neither of them was in. The house was empty. Scribbling a note for Max, Bruce shovelled the bunch of keys through the letter-box and headed to his car.

Before he could pull away, a green BMW drew up outside the house, reversing niftily into a space Bruce had considered earlier and rejected as too small. Irritated by the other driver's superior parking skills, he peered across to reassure himself it wasn't a woman.

It wasn't.

It was his mother's toyboy, Orlando.

Bruce's immediate instinct was to shrink down in his seat, he didn't want her to spot him. The prospect of being dragged into the house and having to witness his mother making sheep's eyes at that gigolo was more than he could handle.

But it wasn't Florence, he realised moments later as a tanned elbow – a _young_ elbow – appeared, resting on the passenger-side open window.

Bruce sat bolt upright. Now this was promising. Well, well, in all honesty he hadn't thought Max had it in him.

Then the elbow shifted and the forearm came out, too thin to belong to Max. Bruce, peering harder, glimpsed an assortment of vaguely familiar silver bangles, then a flash of telltale blue-green hair.

Not Max, the other one . . .what was his name?

Ray.

Something odd had begun to happen on the way back from the Salinger Hotel. Every time Kai pulled up at a junction or a set of traffic lights, Ray discovered, he grew more attractive.

It was no longer confined to his ears. Each stolen glance – when Kai wasn't looking at him, of course – revealed yet another admirable feature. The straightness of his nose, those totally unfair eyelashes, not to mention the way his hair curled over his collar . . .

It was more than odd, Ray marvelled, it was astonishing. Like digging a hideous old knitted cardigan out of the back of your wardrobe and realising that you'd made a mistake, it was actually the cardigan of your dreams, pink and perfect.

Breaking through his thoughts – oh, such delicious thoughts – Kai said abruptly, 'We're here.'

'You've been really kind,' Ray told him. 'Really really kind.'

'I know. And you're really really drunk. When did you last have something to eat?'

Ray shrugged, trying to think.

'Tuesday?'

'You should eat.' Kai paused. 'What?'

'What what?'

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'I don't know,' said Ray, distinctly light headed. His elbow slid off the window frame with a thud. 'Why are _you_ looking like that?'

'Like what?'

Ray pointed an accusing finger at him.

'All gorgeous and, you know, sexy and stuff.'

Kai's mouth twitched. Sexily.

'See?' Ray demanded. 'You're doing it again.'

'Now listen to me, you've had –'

'Can I kiss you?'

Ha, that stopped him in his tracks! He saw Kai's eyes flicker. Sexily.

'Ray.'

Even the way Kai said his name was sexy.

'Or if you want to be masterful about it,' Ray offered, 'you could always kiss me.'

'I don't think I should.'

Ray ignored this. Kai was looking at him with regret, not revulsion. Regret didn't count.

'I want you to.' Reaching over, Ray grabbed Kai's arms. Gorgeous, sexy arms. 'If you don't do it, I will.'

Kai didn't speak.

So Ray kissed him. Sexily for all he was worth.

Bruce, who liked a tidy car, had despaired of Verity's sloppy habit of leaving spare coats slung across the backseat. This time, twisting round, he sent up a prayer of thanks for sloppy people everywhere. He would never moan at Verity again.

Ray missed at first, losing his balance and only managing to make contact with – oof – the stubbled edge of Kai's jaw. Undeterred, he levered himself upright and took fresh aim. This time his mouth landed on Kai's and he closed his eyes with relief. Bingo, this was more like it! Oh yes, this is miles better than being squashed into a toilet cubicle together, with his knees going numb and me bawling my stupid eyes out.

Even if the other contestant didn't appear to be giving it his all.

Ray peeled himself away for a second, to let Kai know he knew.

'Seven out of ten. Must try harder, could do better.' Ray cocked an eyebrow at him. 'I think what we need here is for you to put a bit more effort into this.'

**Dolphin-san:** YAY! A bit of Kai/Ray action! Once again, I'm so so sorry for the long wait for an update. College work is a nightmare, and now that I'm on placement, it's even worse!


	38. Chapter 38

**Dolphin-san:** I am so very, very sorry for not updating in such a long time, but I have been just completely swamped with college work right now. But I'm hoping this big update will make you happy with me again.

**Chapter 38**

Kia glanced sideways as a man in a turquoise cagoule shuffled past, clutching an envelope and heading for the post-box at the end of the road. It was a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon but the hood of the cagoule was pulled up and tied firmly around his face. One of those care-in-the-community types, Kai thought. With a morbid fear of rain.

But he had other things on his mind right now. Like how much longer he could reasonably be expected to fend off Ray, when he was launching himself at him with all the subtlety of a Scud missile.

'Or was that your best effort?' Ray was saying now, wagging his finger infuriatingly and sounding like a sarcastic schoolmaster. 'Maybe it was, and you're just a really hopeless kisser.'

Right. Goaded beyond endurance, Kai took Ray in his arms and gave him what he wanted. Within seconds Ray was sighing and writhing helplessly against him like an ecstatic kitten. Equally abruptly, Kai pulled away.

Hopeless kisser indeed.

'Wow,' gasped Ray, panting for breath. 'That was more _like_ it.'

Kai acknowledged the compliment with a brief nod. Even if it was coming from someone who was howling drunk.

'Thanks.'

'I love you.' The wine was well and truly lodged in Ray's blood-stream now. He could say anything, _anything_ . . .

'Ray, don't.'

'But I do love you!'

'You do not.' Christ, did he think this was easy for Kai?

'The house is empty.' Ray trailed his fingers enticingly across the front of Kai's shirt, still damp from where he had sobbed all over it. 'Shall we go in?'

'Why?'

Ray rolled his eyes at Kai's stupidity.

'We could go to bed.'

Don't do this, thought Kai.

'Why?'

'Well, the general idea would be to have sex.' Ray gave him a playful thump on the arm. 'And then maybe a little sleep, then something to eat, followed – with a bit of luck – by more sex. How does that sound to you?'

For heaven's sake, how did Ray think it sounded?

'What happened to that pledge of eternal celibacy?'

Ray looked appalled.

'Oh no, I've changed my mind about that _completely_.'

Give me strength, Kai pleaded silently. Aloud, he said, 'Not a good idea.'

He was shaking his head. Ray stared at him.

'Come on, it's a brilliant idea! Why can't we? Stop shaking your head like that and tell me why we can't!'

'Because,' Kai said slowly, 'you've had far too much to drink. And you'd only regret it in the morning.'

'I would _not_ regret it,' Ray wailed.

'You would.'

'Why, because you're rubbish in bed? Is that it?' Perking up, he recalled this was the technique that had worked so brilliantly just a couple of minutes earlier. 'Why would I regret it, Kai? Because you're even more useless at sex than you are at kissing?'

Bugger, Kai was smiling at him. It wasn't going to work.

'Possibly,' said Kai.

'But I want to have _sex with you_!' Ray thumped the steering wheel for emphasis.

'Not with me,' Kai said quietly, aware that the chap in the turquoise cagoule had posted his letter and was shuffling back towards them. 'Right now, anyone would do. You're just trying to punish Hiro for hurting you. And prove to yourself that you're over him.'

Ouch.

'Well, so what if I am?' Ray pleaded. 'Isn't that a good enough reason?'

'Sweetheart, it's a terrible reason.'

'You're no fun.' Ray clung to Kai, his empty stomach emitting a terrific rumble.

Shuffle, shuffle. The man in the hooded cagoule moved slowly past the car.

'Come on, I'll make you a bacon sandwich.' Patting Ray's arm, Kai opened the door.

'Give me another kiss first. I'm miserable.'

Kai did, exerting superhuman control.

'We could eat them in bed,' Ray suggested hopefully.

'I'm only coming in because I don't trust you not to set fire to the kitchen,' Kai told him. 'As soon as you've finished your sandwich, I'll be off.'

Back in his car, Bruce watched the two of them disappear together into the empty house. Ray's head leaned on Orlando's shoulder and Orlando's arm was around Ray's waist. It was obvious what they were up to.

Damn, what he wouldn't give for a camera now. Still, he would make Florence believe him when he told her what he'd both seen and heard.

Bruce smiled to himself with satisfaction. Excellent. And thanks to that little tart Ray doing Max's job for him, Bruce had saved himself five grand.

The party at the Salinger hotel broke up a couple of hours later. James, almost comatose with boredom, drawled, 'Takao, let's get _out_ of here.'

'No chance, I suppose, that you two might give it a go for real?' Buzz, seeing that they were about to leave, had sidled up hopefully.

'No chance at all.' Takao jangled his car keys. 'Max? Want a lift?'

Max looked up, startled, from his vanilla cream slice.

'I'm fine, I'll catch a bus.'

'Don't be silly. Come with us.'

James' slanting eyes narrowed with exasperation.

'If he's in the car, you won't let me smoke.'

'Correct,' said Takao. 'Tell you what, I'll give Max a lift and you can catch the bus.'

'I've had enough of this,' James snapped. 'Just because he's pregnant. You care more about him and his stupid baby than you do about me.'

He picked up a glass of red wine. Buzz, hardly able to believe his luck, fumbled for his camera. Stepping out of the way as James flung the contents of the glass at him, Takao escaped almost entirely unscathed. Happily for Buzz, it still made a terrific picture.

'Cheers,' he said, winking and giving the thumbs-up sign to Takao.

'Oh God,' whispered Max, 'I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ embarrassed.'

Like a furious pipe-cleaner, James stalked off. Takao grinned at Max.

'Don't be. I call this a pretty successful day all round.'

'But you must mind,' Max protested, still shuddering at the memory of James' abrupt exit.

Takao threaded the Lotus through the dawdling Sunday traffic, dying to stick his foot down but careful not to do anything that might alarm Max.

'Do I look as if I mind?'

'No, but . . . oh God, you've got a splash on your shirt.' Max squirmed, feeling horribly responsible. Takao's shirts probably cost more than the average package holiday to Ibiza.

'Look in there.' Takao indicated the glove compartment. 'I'm pretty sure James left a bottle of Perrier behind.'

He had, and a packet of Kleenex. Takao pulled up in a bus lane, allowing Max to soak the blue-red stain with lukewarm sparkling water and go to work on it with a tissue. Max scrubbed so energetically, a sheaf of papers slithered out of the glove compartment on to his feet.

'The car's rocking,' Takao observed with amusement. 'People are going to wonder what we're up to in here.'

'Until they see my incredible bulk and realise that getting up to anything would be pretty much impossible. This isn't working, by the way.'

'It's only a shirt.'

Max peeked at the label inside the collar.

'A Turnbull and Asser shirt. If we don't let the stain dry out, we can soak it in something biological – oh no, now look what I'm doing, wrecking your papers . . .'

Bending over with difficulty, he gathered up the dozen or so sheets and hurriedly smoothed out the shoe marks. They were property details with eye-boggling prices.

'The lease is up on my flat,' Takao explained.

'Hampstead, what bliss.' Max sighed with pleasure as he leafed through the glossy details. This was clearly the area Takao was concentrating on. Max tried not to drool over a photograph of a white stucco villa overlooking the heath, with a pool in the back garden. It wasn't the kind of house-hunting he was used to.

'I'm seeing one tomorrow, after work,' said Takao.

Max opened his mouth then quickly shut it again. He'd been about to say that if Takao wanted a second opinion, he would love to go with him . . . heavens, presumptuous or what? Why on earth would Takao be interested in his useless opinion? Worse still, the estate agent might mistake them for a couple, and how embarrassing would that be for Takao?

'What?' Takao was looking at him oddly.

'Nothing.' Max went a deep shade of pink.

There was a pause, then Takao said carefully, 'Look, if you aren't doing anything else, why don't you come along with me?'

Oh Lord, this was awful! Takao had to have guessed what Max was about to ask and now felt obliged to make the offer, simply because he was so kind . . .

'No thanks,' Max said abruptly. 'I can't. I'm bust tomorrow night.'

**Dolphin-san:** Aw, Max was so embarrassed there *laughs*. And Ray and Kai's first kiss . . . ah, it makes me so happy to be writing this again after so long. I hope you're not all mad at me for keeping you waiting like that.


	39. Chapter 39

**Dolphin-san: ** So here's another chapter I thought of today. I just had to wait for to resend my password (because in the time I spent NOT updating, I have, of course, forgotten it), so hopefully shouldn't take to long to update again.

So, what's happened the morning after with Kai and Ray?

**Chapter 39**

It took a while for Ray to orientate himself. His watch said seven o'clock, but was that morning or evening? He had absolutely no idea how long he had been asleep.

Help arrived, moments later, in the form of Max. Carrying a tray.

Ray peered at it, searching for clues.

'Hi. Is that . . . ?'

'Breakfast,' said Max.

Ah.

'Only tea and toast. I didn't know if you'd feel up to much.'

Ray didn't know either. It was far too soon to tell.

'You've been asleep for fifteen hours,' Max went on, plonking the tray down.

Good Lord, really? Testing his head, Ray discovered that it hardly hurt at all. How amazing, he appeared to have slept right through his headache.

Excellent news!

Feeling more cheerful already, he hauled himself into a sitting position and took a noisy slurp of tea. Gorgeous, made just the way he liked it, two and a half sugars and tongue-numbingly strong . . .

Hang on a sec.

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'It's Florence.' Max's valiant attempts at keeping a straight face weren't going well. 'She'd, um, like a word.'

'Florence is up already?' Ray was astounded. This was unheard of.

'She made me come and wake you up.'

'Why?' Ray peered suspiciously over the rim of his Bart Simpson mug. Something was going on here and he couldn't for the life of him imagine what it might be. 'Why?' he persisted. 'Is Florence ill?'

Florence couldn't really be ill, he knew that. Otherwise, why would Max be smirking?

'I think she's just dying . . .' said Max.

_What?_

'. . . of curiosity.' Another pause, then the words came tumbling out. 'She wants to know all the gory details about you and Kai.'

'Me and Kai? For heaven's sake, what kind of gory details?'

'Well, who made the first move.' Max's shoulders were shaking. 'How many times you . . . er, did it. Oh, and she especially wants to know if he's fantastic in bed.'

Ray dropped his toast. Up until that moment his brain had been merciful, sparing him the horror of having to remember events he would have so much preferred to forget.

Now it all came flooding back in a hideous, toe-curling, spine-tingling technicolour _whoosh_.

'Oh God, oh God, oh noooo!' The tray on Ray's lap toppled sideways as he threw himself back against the pillows and dragged the duvet over his head.

Max caught the tray with milliseconds to spare. He tugged the duvet away from Ray's burning face.

'You don't have to be embarrassed. Kai's great, we are really like him.'

'Ooohhh!'

'Ray, come on, you and Kai got it together and that's wonderful news. You don't have to be embarrassed, just because you had sex with him!'

Heavens, Max marvelled, listen to me. I sound just like Florence.

'I didn't have sex with him,' whispered Ray. To add insult to injury, his hangover was belatedly kicking in. But the spasms of pain attacking his temples were negligible in comparison with the agony of total humiliation. When you were about to be mauled by a pack of lions, you don't worry too much about being bitten by an ant.

Max was looking disappointed.

'You didn't? Damn, we thought you had.' He frowned. 'So why are you upset?'

Ray closed his eyes. He didn't need twenty questions, he needed oblivion. Having sex with Kai Hiwatari wouldn't have been embarrassing at all – well, maybe a bit, but he could have handled that.

Equally, being offered the opportunity of a night of wild sex with Kai Hiwatari and graciously turning him down would have been fine. No reason to be embarrassed there.

Except I didn't do either of those things, thought Ray, did I? Oh no, not me, I had to pick the third card, didn't I? I threw myself at him and forced him to kiss me and then I begged – actually _begged_ – him to have sex with me . . . and he turned me down.

Awfully kind of you to offer, old thing, but no thanks, rather not.

Ray shuddered. His skin crawled with humiliation.

Oh God, what have I done?

Total, total nightmare.

Why am I such a prat?

There was nothing else to do but come clean. Florence, true to form, thought it was all uproariously funny.

'Never mind, darling, better luck next time.'

Next time, oh yes, Ray thought miserably. I can hardly wait.

'At least you got a snog out of it,' Florence continued, her eyes alight with mischief. 'You can tell us how that went, surely! Good, bad, indifferent . . .?'

'Average,' lied Ray, wondering what he'd done to deserve such torture.

'Hmm. From the way Bruce described it, that's a bit like describing Torvill and Dean as average ice-skaters.'

'Actually, I've got a bit of a headache.'

Florence went off into peals of laughter.

'Poor darling, is that what Kai said to you last night?

Max, feeling sorry for Ray, said, 'Shall I bring you a couple of aspirins?'

'Make it a couple of hundred,' Ray groaned. Oh dear, was it possible to feel worse than this?

The phone rang just as Ray was crawling out of the house.

'For you,' crowed Florence, behind him.

'Who is it?'

'No idea. Sounds like Jeremy Paxman.' Florence had recently taken to watching _Newsnight_ at every opportunity; she thought Jeremy Paxman was the bee's knees. 'Ask him if he wears pants or boxer shorts.' She wagged the receiver hopefully at Ray. 'It's so hard to fantasise when you don't know.'

Ray snatched the phone from her, not in the mood for Florence's surreal ramblings.

'Ray Kon? Glad I managed to catch you,' barked Jeremy Paxman, sounding as brisk and disdainful as he did when he was grilling some hapless politician. 'Short notice, I know, but we'd like you to appear on the show tonight, and not that it's relevant, but for the record perhaps you could tell whoever asked that ludicrous question that the answer is neither. Beneath my desk I am at one with the elements, unhampered, free as a bird –'

Ray hung up.

Moments later, the phone rang again.

'You weren't supposed to do that,' a more familiar voice complained good-naturedly. 'I was only trying to brighten your day.'

'I don't want to speak to you, I don't, I really don't . . .'

'Not bad though, was it?' Kai sounded pleased with himself. 'Did I fool you, just for a few seconds?'

'No.' He had, of course. Right up to the moment when he had begun to describe his below-desk preferences in such vivid detail. Thanks to the deadly accurate machine-gun delivery, Ray had actually believed that Jeremy Paxman was calling to invite a hopeless trainee hairdresser from Notting Hill on to his show.

That's how stupid I am, thought Ray.

Spending the rest of his life in a tin shack on the outer Hebrides was becoming an increasingly attractive idea.

He looked at his watch.

'I have to go. I'm late for work.'

For some reason, this didn't appear to bother Kai.

'Dear me, late for work, that would never do.'

'What do you want?' Ray gritted through his teeth. 'An apology, is that it?'

'Don't be daft.' Kai sounded amused. 'Although you could thank me, if you like. For doing the gentlemanly thing.'

Hot waves of shame swept through him. He stood there, mortified and unable to speak.

Sadist.

'And don't think it was easy,' Kai went on, 'because it wasn't. I was tempted, I admit. Turning down offers like that don't come naturally to red-blooded males –'

'Okay, okay,' Ray blurted out. 'Thank you thank you thank you for not sleeping with me, I'm so _grateful_ to you!'

'Calm down, no need to yell.' Now he sounded offended. 'I was being responsible. You were upset about Hiro, plus you'd had a fair bit to drink. People do daft things when they're pissed –'

Tell me about it, Ray thought despairingly. Except – damn – he already was.

'- and I didn't want you waking up this morning, flinching at the sight of me and thinking Oh God, _no_.' Kai paused. 'That's the worst-case scenario, of course. It could have been quite different. You might have been delighted it happened, not embarrassed at all. You might have thought, That was fabulous, why didn't we do it _months_ ago?'

There was an odd note in his voice. Ray couldn't work it out at all, and he didn't want to try. His brain kept conjuring up hideous images of him flinging himself at Kai in his car, smothering him with kisses, fumbling with his shirt buttons, yelling 'I want to have sex with you!'

And the pictures kept appearing, over and over again like a video stuck on endless Replay.

'Look, I do have to go to work.' He tried huffing his fringe out of his eyes but perspiration had plastered it to his clammy forehead. 'But you're right, it would have been disastrous, the biggest mistake of my life. God, just the thought makes me shudder. I must have been out of my tree.'

'Okay.' Kai sounded taken aback, as if he hadn't been expecting such a brutal put-down. 'Well, that's that out of the way. All forgotten. How About dinner tonight, to celebrate the fact that we didn't sleep together and we're still friends?'

'No thanks.' Ray couldn't face it, he was too ashamed. It was all right for Kai, he wasn't the one who'd been begging for sex. And Ray didn't believe for one moment that it would be All Forgotten. From now on, their every conversation would be a minefield, because he knew Kai wouldn't be able to resist teasing him, making the occasional sly remark here, the odd dig there, reminding him – God, as if he needed reminding – what an all-time prize pillock he'd made of himself.

'Go on,' Kai urged.

'I really don't want to.

'What about the video? I was going to bring it over. Don't you want to see it?'

'I'm going to work now.' Ray had had enough. 'And I don't want to see you or your video.' As his patience snapped, his voice rose hysterically. 'I just want to be _left in peace_.'

Feigning cheerfulness for the clients at the salon was something you had to do whether you liked it or not. As far as Ray was concerned, it was a long and trying day. The only time he had cheered up was when he handed the parcel Max had given him over to Takao and watched him open it.

'That's your shirt.' Ray gazed at it in astonishment. It was definitely the shirt Takao had been wearing yesterday, now laundered and ironed and folded as neatly as a sweater in a Benetton shop.

'Max insisted.' Takao ran a finger over the front where the wine stain had been. 'After James got trigger happy with the claret.'

Mystified, Ray stared at him. Takao was six foot two and broad shouldered.

'So if you left your shirt at our house, what did you wear home?'

'The only thing that fitted me.' The corners of Takao's mouth twitched as he recalled the reaction of his neighbours when they had seen him in the sweatshirt Max had bought from Mothercare.

In that moment, Ray knew.

'The yellow sweatshirt,' he exclaimed, 'with pink writing on it.'

'Maybe,' said Takao.'

Ray clapped his hands with delight; he could just picture it. Takao Kinomiya, emerging from his black Lotus in a pastel-shaded sweatshirt bearing the slogan _I'm Not Fat, I'm Pregnant._

The house overlooking Hampstead Heath was a dream. It was perfect in every way, from the matching pair of monkey puzzle trees in the front garden to the Tuscan-style marbled kitchen the size of a tennis court, done out in irresistible shades of copper and blue.

The estate agent kept saying what a fabulous property it was, and Takao could only nod in agreement. He was unable to fault it.

'There's a great deal of interest, as you'd expect,' the agent told him as they left. 'I'm sure you'd like to put in an offer.'

I could be making the biggest mistake of my life here, thought Takao. I must be mad.

Aloud, he said, 'No thanks.'

**Dolphin-san:** Oh, what is Takao up to? Why didn't he take the great house with the view of the Heath? Well, you'll just have to wait and find out (don't worry, I'll be updating within the next week).

Ja Ne.


	40. Chapter 40

**Dolphin-san:** Hey once more. Since was deciding to be annoying with the login page and not load up properly, I have been able to write another chapter (chapter's 38, 39 and 40 went up together). Here's hoping you will like this.

**Chapter 40**

Three weeks later, Takao moved into his new flat. The next day, he gave his overjoyed salon junior a lift home from work.

'This is so brilliant,' Ray exclaimed when Takao informed him in his off-hand fashion that since he practically had to pass Ray's front door, they may as well make it a regular thing. 'No more fighting and getting squashed on the tube! And I'll be saving eight pounds a week on fares . . . golly, I'm going to be rich!'

That was a comfort, then. Every cloud . . . Takao thought drily. Ray was getting himself chauffeured to and from work and saving eight pounds a week. He, on the other hand, had leased a diabolically expensive flat in Holland Park with no swimming pool, no garden and truly cringe-making decor of the 1960's groovy-man-about-town variety. Even the neighbours were unfriendly, clearly regarding a long-haired celebrity hairdresser as an undesirable member of their exclusive enclave. Then again, maybe they were simply suspicious of anyone who would want to live in a flat with zebra-print fitted carpets, mirrored ceilings and leather-look walls.

And let's face it, Takao had to acknowledge, who wouldn't be?

But he had been compelled to rent the property anyway, for reasons so flimsy and embarrassing he couldn't admit them to a living soul.

'I thought you had your heart set on Hampstead.' Rifling through his bag, Ray offered Takao a liquorice allsort. 'What made you go for Holland Park instead?'

There was no way in the world he was going to tell Ray.

'I thought if I moved to Holland Park, I'd be able to give you a lift every morning. That way, you wouldn't be able to be late for work,' said Takao. 'And we wouldn't have to listen to any more of your bizarre excuses.'

Not true, of course, but close. Closer than Ray would ever know. Takao swung his car into Tredegar Gardens and pulled up outside Florence's house.

'You pretend to be a grumpy old stick,' Ray told him with a grin, 'but deep down you're all heart.'

Ray was gathering his belongings, squashing the packet of liquorice allsorts back into his backpack, juggling sunglasses, Coke can and a set of keys.

'How's Florence?' Takao kept his tone casual.

'Great! People keep complimenting her on her hair.'

Takao hesitated.

'I haven't seen her since the wedding.'

'Of course you haven't.' Ray frowned, concentrating on disentangling the cord of his sunglasses from his keyring. 'Bugger, how did I manage this?'

Never mind that, thought Takao, how do you manage to miss a hint the size of a JCB?

'Well,' Takao went on slightly desperately, 'I'm glad she's okay.'

Yay, done it! Triumphantly, Ray slung his glasses around his neck and waved his keys at Takao.

'Thanks for the lift, you're a star. I'd ask you in for a drink – Florence would love to see you – but I know you must be dying to get back to the new flat.'

Takao exhaled slowly.

Mission accomplished.

About time too.

'Of course I am,' he told Ray with a careless shrug. 'Still, the flat isn't going anywhere, is it? Twenty minutes won't hurt.'

Max was dozing on the sun-lounger in the garden, soaking up the late-afternoon rays. When he felt an insect tickling his nose, he batted it away idly without opening his eyes.

Then it happened again. Max looked up and saw Ray grinning down at him.

'Bzzz bzzz.' Ray waggled the blade of grass in his hand. 'Wake up, we've got company.'

'Who?'

'My new chauffeur.'

'_Who?_' As he sat up, Max felt the waistband of his swimming trunks cut into his hips. It was last years trunks, designed for an altogether less inflated figure.

Max was grateful for the security of knowing that Florence's back garden couldn't be overlooked.

'My new _personal_ chauffeur,' Ray announced smugly. 'Takao.'

'What? Oh my God –'

'No need to panic, I'm pretty sure he's seen undressed men before.'

Oh yes, undressed men who weigh about as much as one of my kidneys, Max thought wildly.

'Go and get me towels, lots of towels!' he yelped.

'You're being silly, you look fine.' Ray glanced up at the house. 'Anyway, too late. He's here.'

Takao was wheeling Florence down the ramp. Max cringed and wondered if he could hide under the sun-lounger. His face burned; how could they all be so insensitive?

'Flap flap,' Ray teased. 'Anyone would think you had a big crush on Takao.'

'Towels.' Max glared as scarily as he knew how. Ridiculous; he didn't have any kind of crush on Takao. He just didn't want Takao to see him like _this_.

Across the lawn Takao had heard the hissed command and guessed the cause of Max's anguish in an instant.

'Won't be a sec,' he told Florence and headed back into the kitchen, returning moments later with an emerald-green towel he had spotted hanging over the back of one of the chairs.

Grateful for Takao's tact but still barely able to look at him, Max wrapped the towel around himself. Oh dear, it was a bit small but it was better than nothing. Though he would have preferred a beach towel. Or a king-size duvet. Or, best of all, a nice sturdy body bag complete with six-foot zip.

'Takao's moved into a new flat,' Florence explained, distributing bottles of Guinness. 'In Holland Park.'

Max's eyebrows went up. 'What was wrong with the house in Hampstead?'

Takao shrugged. Apart from the fact it was in Hampstead, there hadn't been a single thing wrong with it.

'I was too late. Someone else got there first.'

'Isn't that a shame? So he had to settle for this other place instead,' Ray crowed. 'And now I don't have to catch the tube any more,' he did a little dance for joy, 'because Takao's going to give me a lift into work.'

Florence patted Takao's arm.

'If you ask me, you should have stuck with Hampstead.' Her voice lowered. 'She sings, you know. In the mornings.'

Takao was beginning to wonder if he'd made a terrible mistake.

'Not in my car, he won't.'

'Still, it'll be nice, we'll see more of you,' Florence went on cheerfully.

Maybe not such a horrible mistake after all.

Just so long as he doesn't see more of me, Max thought ruefully, attempting to tug the flimsy cotton of the towel further down his legs.

'What's the new flat like, then?' Florence took a swig of Guinness. 'Done out all right?'

'Think Peter Stringfellow, twenty years ago,' said Takao. 'With knobs on.'

'Hah!' cackled Florence. 'A shag pad.'

Ray grinned. Max, still shockable, spluttered into his drink.

Takao said gravely, 'More like a shag palace.'

'Not your thing?'

'You could say that. Every time I open a cupboard I half expect a leftover bunny girl to come tumbling out.'

'I can help you pick out new stuff,' Ray exclaimed. 'Honestly, I'm brilliant at that. I should have become an interior designer.'

'Oh right, have my new wallpaper chosen by someone with green and blue hair. Great idea,' said Takao. He raised his eyebrows at Max. 'Help me out here, will you? Think of a way of saying no without hurting his feelings.'

'But I would be brilliant,' Ray protested. 'I would I would I _would_!'

'No,' Takao mimicked Ray's pleading tones. 'No no _no_.'

'He'll hire a professional designer,' Max explained soothingly. It was the kind of thing rich people did.

'I will not,' said Takao with a shudder. 'They always go miles over the top and you're never allowed to want anything normal.'

Ray, losing interest since he clearly wasn't going to be allowed to help, said, 'I'm starving. Anyone else for a crisp sandwich?'

As soon as he had disappeared into the kitchen, Takao sat forward and said, 'So how's he been with you?'

'Bright and cheerful on the outside, quiet on the inside.' Florence blew a stream of smoke rings. 'Like a Kunzle cake.'

Takao nodded. 'Same as at work.'

'He stays in every night,' said Max.

'Pretending everything's fine.' Florence stubbed out her cigarette. 'When what he should be doing is getting out there and having fun. That's what Ray really needs, of course. A new man to take his mind off the old one.'

The way Florence's lip curled at this reference to Hiro reminded Takao of something else that had been puzzling him.

'Why hasn't Kai shown him the wedding video yet? I asked Ray and he said he hadn't seen it.'

'He didn't want to,' Max explained. 'Kai brought it round here and Ray went out. We watched it,' he went on cheerfully. 'It was brilliant.'

'The question is, which of them couldn't Ray face?' Florence's tone was arch. 'The video, or Kai Hiwatari?'

Takao had finished his Guinness. He glanced at his watch.

'I'd better be off. The faster I clear the packing crates out of my sitting room, the sooner I can rip up the zebra-print carpet.' He glanced at Max. 'How are you at picking out what goes with what? I've spent the weekend up to my ears in colour charts and wallpaper samples. I could use a second opinion,' he said easily. 'So long as it isn't Ray's.'

Startled, Max said, 'I'm not an expert.'

'I told you, I don't want an expert. An expert would insist on magenta ceilings, turquoise marble-effect walls and rag-rolled festoon blinds with bloody bows on. All I want is something normal.' Takao shrugged. 'That won't give me a headache.'

Reassured, Max began to nod.

'Well, I can probably do normal. If you're –'

'There you go!' With an air of triumph, Ray clattered two plates of leaking sandwiches on to the table. 'Smokey bacon with barbeque sauce, roast chicken and mayonnaise, cheese and onion with ketchup.' He beamed. 'Eat them before they go soggy.'

'And he wonders why I don't want him to redecorate my flat,' said Takao. He rose to his feet and eyed Ray severely. 'Eight o'clock tomorrow morning. On the dot.'

Ray nodded, his mouth crammed with wonderfully crunchy sandwich. For some reason he was the only one eating. Honestly, some people have no sense of adventure.

'How about you?' Takao turned to Max. 'Six-ish, tomorrow evening?'

'Fine.'

Hey-up, thought Ray, secret assignations being arranged behind my back – what's this all about?

'That's discrimination,' he protested. 'How come he gets six-_ish_ and I get on-the-dot?'

'Because Max's doing me a favour, and I'm doing you one.'

In a flash, Ray knew what the other favour was.

'Oh, that is so mean,' he wailed. 'You've asked Max to help you choose new stuff for your flat.'

'Perhaps we could both help,' suggested Max, embarrassed.

'No you bloody well could not.' Takao was firm. 'It's my flat and I'll ask who I want.'

'But –'

'No begging, no emotional blackmail,' he told Ray.

Rebelliously Ray muttered, 'Just acres and acres of magnolia vinyl emulsion.'

'Look, I know you're fed up at the moment,' Takao went on more kindly. 'You're bored and you want some fun. I just don't want you taking it out on my flat.'

Ray's shoulders sagged in defeat. Takao was right, of course – deep down, he knew they had wildly different tastes. It would be like Margaret Thatcher to sashay down the catwalk in a Vivienne Westwood basque.

Oh, but how long was he going to feel like this, hollow with misery and so lonely he could cry?

Wearily Ray reached for another sandwich. Soggy already, like his life. Fun, had Takao said?

The way things were going, he couldn't imagine ever having fun again.

**Dolphin-san:** Well, can any of you guess the _real_ reason for Takao's choice of flat? And Max's reaction to Takao coming over . . . well, he obviously like him more than he's willing to admit to himself just now *laughs*.

Ja Ne.


	41. Chapter 41

**Dolphin-san:** Well, for once I'm making good on my promise and have updated before the end of the week. Yay me! Any way, this chapter sees the return of a character, so I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter 41**

It was even more depressing deciding to become an entrepreneur and having your brilliant ideas laughed at.

'Ray,' said Takao when Ray had finished explaining it to him at work the next day, 'you can't _do_ that.'

'Why not? It's recycling! Anita Roddick would be proud of me.' Ray gestured at the floor with his broom. 'You cut hair, I sweep it up, it gets chucked in the bin . . . can't you see how wasteful that is? We're talking famous hair here, Takao. People would pay good money for hair belonging to their favourite celebrities. What I thought we could do was curl up little strands, set them in Perspex and sell them as jewellery . . . say you were a huge Barry Manilow fan and you could wear a necklace containing a little piece of Barry Manilow . . . what a thrill!'

Silence. He had run out of breath.

'And Corrine does our pedicures,' said Takao. 'She can save all the clippings. We could call them Toenails of the Rich and Famous.'

Ray looked at him.

'You're making fun of me.'

'And then there's waxing, we could call that Leg-Hair to Treasure.'

'This is the best idea I've ever had,' Ray wailed, 'and you won't even take it seriously. We could be rich!'

Takao, who was already rich, glanced over Ray's shoulder as the salon door was pushed open.

'Ray, trust me, stealing other people's toenails isn't the way –'

'Oh, now you're twisting things.' Exasperated, Ray could have kicked him. 'All I said was hair. Stealing the toenails was _your _idea, not mine.'

Another stunned silence. Oh dear, maybe he'd been a bit loud. He really hadn't meant –

'Don't you just love it,' drawled an amused voice behind him, 'when you overhear part of a conversation and can't imagine for the life of you what it's all about?'

Not only an amused voice, but a familiar one. Ray felt all the hairs at the back of his neck leap to attention. He swung round, mouth idiotically agape, and came face to face with Brian Kutsenov.

Brian was standing there laughing at him, wearing a black polo shirt and black jeans and looking so drop-dead gorgeous Ray had to struggle to breath normally. Heavens, this was embarrassing, it was his turn to speak and he was terrified of trying to say hi in case it came out as something else altogether.

Something excruciating like, Oh, Brian, what are you doing wasting your time with that awful brain-dead Daisy Schofield when you could have me instead?

The name brought Ray crashing back to earth with a thud. Damn, this must be why Brian had come to the salon.

His tongue magically unstuck itself.

'She's not here.'

'Who?'

'Daisy.' Oh, those wicked violet eyes, how unfair was this?

'I know she isn't here.' Brian grinned. 'She's in Sydney.'

Floundering, Ray said, 'So, um, do you want to make an appointment?'

'To see Daisy in Sydney? No thanks.' Brian was clearly enjoying himself.

'Okay if I borrow him for a moment?' Brian raised his eyebrows at Takao.

'Hang on to your fingernails,' said Takao.

Brian led Ray away from the crowded central section of the salon. When they could no longer be overheard he said, 'I came to see you.'

Ray felt his knees begin to buckle. He leaned against the chair behind him, forgetting that it was a revolving one. With his legendary reflexes, Brian grabbed him in the nick of time.

'I had to come.' His tone was soulful. 'You never wrote, you never phoned. We were fantastic together, I thought we had a real future . . . but you were cruel, you tossed me aside like an old watermelon. You broke my heart in two . . .'

'Like an old watermelon?' suggested Ray. This was better, this kind of banter he could handle.

Smiling slightly, Brian shook his head. 'Why haven't I been able to stop thinking about you?'

'A good watermelon partner is hard to find.'

'The trouble is, you think I'm joking. And I'm not.'

He was, he was, he was.

Oh crikey, wasn't he?

'Everybody's l-looking at us,' Ray stammered.

'So?'

'They're wondering what's going on.'

'Me too. I asked you out and you turned me down. Nobody's ever done that to me before.'

'You didn't ask me out. You got your friend to do it.'

Brian said sorrowfully, 'Only because I'm so shy.'

Ray jumped a mile as Brian's arms slid around his waist.

'That isn't a very shy thing to do . . . eek!' He let out an undignified squeal as Brian pulled him forward. 'Neither's that!'

'I've been working very hard to overcome it. My therapist says I'm making pretty good progress.'

'I'd say she's right.'

'But I have to persevere. Practice, that's what I need. Lots of practice.'

His mouth was moving closer. It was hard to struggle, Ray discovered, when your whole body had turned to custard. He didn't have to look to know the kind of effect they were having on the rest of the salon – he could hear the gasps.

Oh Lord, unless that's _me_.

'You can't do this here!'

'I must. It's the next step of my rehabilitation.' His breath was warm against Ray's cheek. 'You want me to be cured, don't you?'

'But I'm embarrassed!'

'Oh dear,' said Brian. 'You need to see my therapist.'

The kiss didn't happen. In a daze, Ray found himself being dragged towards the back of the shop. A collective groan of disappointment went up around the salon as Brian Kutsenov bundled him through the first available door and kicked it shut behind him.

Quite masterfully, for a shy man.

Bev, every bit as enthralled – and envious – as the rest of the clientele, rushed over to Takao.

'Aren't you going to _do_ something?'

Takao was cutting the hair of a new client, who was swivelled round in her chair gazing avidly at the closed door through which Ray and Brian had disappeared.

'Like what?'

'Well . . . shouldn't you stop them?'

'Don't you dare!' exclaimed the new client. 'It's the most romantic thing I've ever seen in my life.'

'But . . . but he's making a fool of Ray!'

'Why don't we leave them to it?' Takao calmly carried on cutting. 'Ray's had a miserable few weeks. If five minutes in the laundry room with Brian Kutsenov cheers him up, that's fine by me.'

The client, her eyes still trained on the laundry room door, said happily, 'I'm so glad I came here. Free coffee in fancy cups, that's all you get at Nicky Clarke's.'

'There you go,' Takao said drily. 'We aim to please.'

'Look,' said Ray, pulling away and hanging on to the tumble dryer for support, 'I'm really flattered. This kind of thing hardly ever happens to me on a Tuesday morning. But I don't want you to kiss me.'

This was, of course, a big lie. What Ray really meant was, he didn't want Brian to think he was a complete pushover.

Brian Kutsenov grinned and checked his watch.

'Okay. I have to go anyway. So, what time do you finish work?'

'Six. Why?'

'I'll pick you up.'

Something weird was happening to Ray's lips; he could feel them buzzing with excitement, clamouring for the kiss he had so meanly denied them. Heavens, his lips had turned into shameless groupies . . .

'Unless of course you're busy.' Brain raised a challenging eyebrow. 'Again.'

'Well . . .'

'Cooking fish fingers for your boyfriend, maybe.'

'Nothing like that,' Ray said hurriedly. 'But –'

'Good.' Brain stepped back, and winked. Almost as if he knew the effect he was having on Ray's squealing adolescent lips. Ray clamped them together before their frantic squeaks became audible.

'Thanks,' Brian told Takao, depositing a dazed-looking Ray back with him. 'I'm glad we got that sorted out.'

'Any time,' said Takao.

By ten past six Ray's hair was finished.

'I still think you're mad,' said Bev fretfully. 'What's Brian Kutsenov going to think when he sees you looking like this?'

'It's not for him, it's for tomorrow.' Ray inspected the end result in a mirror, tweaking a couple of stray spikes into place. 'Anyway, Brian isn't going to turn up. Look at the time.'

His stomach was in knots. It was hard to pretend you didn't care when every thud of your heart reminded you that another half-second had gone by and he still hadn't arrived.

'But if he does turn up, how can he take you anywhere nice, with your hair like that?'

Bev was bothered by Ray's attitude. When a man invited you out, it was your duty to look as good as you knew how. When Bev had a date she could spend anything up to four hours honing her make-up to perfection . . .

'He isn't going to take me anywhere, because he isn't coming.' Ray wished with all his heart that he hadn't told Bev about the supposed date. Brian Kutsenov – rotten bastard – had either forgotten, or found something more exciting to do. 'And anyway, if he does turn up, he'll be to late. Because I'm going home.'

Bev followed him to the door.

'Maybe it's for the best. The last thing you need is to get involved with someone who's going to muck you around.'

'Is that meant to make me feel better?'

'Come on, you know what I'm trying to say. Daisy Schofield's away . . . he's at a bit of a loose end . . . all he's looking for is someone to amuse himself with until she get's back.'

'Thanks.'

'But it's true!'

Of course it was true. Ray knew that, he just wasn't in the mood to hear it. He was a nobody and Brian Kutsenov was practically a national hero. Ray would be a bit of harmless entertainment for him, nothing more. His crush on Brian would deepen – oh yes, he knew that too – and it would all end in tears.

Just for a change.

'Anyway,' Bev said kindly as her bus loomed into view, 'you'll have a brilliant time tomorrow.'

A brilliant time, thought Ray. Have to look that one up in the thesaurus.

The bus eventually jerked to a halt beside them and Bev swung herself up on to the platform. Behind her, a car tooted its horn in appreciation of this slinky manoeuvre. Bev, smirking and flattered by the attention, couldn't resist a quick glance at the driver . . .

'Where's Ray?' Brian yelled at her above the roar of traffic.

Bev's smirk faded. As the bus began to pull away, she pointed to Ray standing on the pavement.

'Jesus,' exclaimed Brian, grinning as he flung the passenger door open for Ray. 'I didn't recognise you. What have you done to your hair?'

**Dolphin-san:** Yay! Brian's back. Another person to get in the way of the budding relationship of Kai and Ray. Wonder what Ray's done to his hair this time?


	42. Chapter 42

**Dolphin-san: **Hey there everyone! I know that it's been a few months since I last updated and I feel so terrible for neglecting the story, but I badly misjudged how much work I would have to put into my final project at college. But, there is hope still shining on the horizon! I'm finished with college and until I find a job (and even still after that) I no longer have to do stuff in the evenings! So I will have plenty of time to work on this. Hurray!

**Chapter 42**

It was happening and there was nothing Ray could do to stop it. Everything Bev had warned him about was coming true, his crush was hurtling out of control like a runaway tank and he'd never been happier in his life.

Then again, maybe this was because he knew it wouldn't last. Like eating an ice cream really slowly and concentrating on every lick, thought Ray, because first thing tomorrow you know you have to start that crash diet.

Bev would disapprove mightily, of course, but so what? I'm getting involved with someone I really shouldn't get involved with, Ray told himself recklessly, and I don't care if I'm making a fool of myself, or if I end up hurt. This is brilliant and I don't need a thesaurus any more to remind me what it means.

It was scary to think that another thirty seconds and they would have missed each other. Bryan would have pulled up outside the salon just as Ray was disappearing down into the tube station and none of this would be happening now.

'I have to say,' Bryan murmured beside him, 'I never thought I'd get to sleep with you on out first date.'

'I'm not asleep.'

'Are you cold? We could always zip these bags together . . .'

'Then we'd definitely never get to sleep,' Ray told him. 'And we'd probably end up getting arrested.'

Bryan was dismayed. 'For a bit of harmless alfresco fornication? If anyone needs arresting, it's that tone-deaf chap who keeps singing "My Way".'

Ray stifled laughter.

'He was here last year. And it wouldn't be alfresco, it would be altento.'

'I've never done it in a tent before. Unless you count a wedding marquee.' He paused. 'How many times have you done it altento?'

'Thousands.'

Bryan heaved a sigh.

'Doesn't seem fair, somehow. You so experienced, me such a virgin –'

'Tell you what,' said Ray. 'When Daisy gets back from Australia, I'll lend you my tent.'

Another mournful sigh. Followed by the sound of a zip being stealthily unfastened.

'It's two o'clock in the morning,' said Ray. 'Do it back up.'

'You're a hard man to persuade,' Bryan whispered. 'Actually, that's quite a coincidence because –'

'Ahem. The people in the next tent can here you.' In the darkness, Ray smiled to himself. 'Go to sleep.'

When he woke up the next morning, the sleeping bag beside him was empty. There were sounds of laughter and plenty of activity outside. Moments later the tent flap was pulled back and Bryan – in red shorts, Legionnaire's cap and wrap-around dark glasses – reappeared.

'Morning, gorgeous. Breakfast.' Bryan thrust a melting Cornetto and a can of Lilt into Ray's hands, and dropped a hot, foil-wrapped parcel into his lap.

Mystified, Ray unwrapped the foil.

'Where did you get bacon sandwiches?'

'Chap up the pavement's got a barbeque going, selling them for a fiver each.'

'You paid ten pounds for two bacon sandwiches?' Good _grief_.

'Nope, there was a queue.' Bryan took off his glasses and flashed his wicked grin at Ray. 'I bought them off a kid at the head of the queue for fifty.'

'I'm a vegetarian,' Ray told him, then lunged forwards squealing, 'No I'm _not_,' as Bryan tossed the sandwiches over his shoulder and out through the tent flap. A volley of joyful barks outside signalled their unhappy fate.

'Fifty pounds!' wailed Ray.

'Worth it, to see the look on your face.' Bryan kissed him. 'And I knew you weren't a vegetarian. Now eat the rest of your breakfast – before it melts.'

The early-morning sun was already beating down on the tent. Ray's ice cream dripped on to his bare legs and the dog out on the pavement – a boisterous chocolate-brown Labrador – poked his nose through the tent flap to see if they had any more bacon sandwiches they might fling his way.

'If you can't stand queuing,' Ray licked his fingers with relish, 'you must be hating every second of this.'

'If I was hating every second of this, I wouldn't be here.' Bryan leaned back on his elbows, watching Ray with amusement. 'In a tent the size and temperature of your average microwave. On a rock-hard pavement. Outside the All England Lawn Tennis Club, waiting for the gates to open with a guy who dyes his hair purple and green and won't even let me join my sleeping bag to his in case we accidentally have altento sex in the night, and who snores like a train –'

'Oh God! Did I really snore?'Mortified, Ray clapped his hands over his eyes.

'Ha, got you worried.' Bryan grinned and shook his head. 'And no, I'm not hating every second. I'm loving it.'

Breakfast over, Bryan donned his disguise once more and together they dismantled the tent. Ray didn't tell Bryan that he hadn't let him zip their sleeping bags together because there was such a thing as too much temptation. Not on Bryan's side; on Ray's.

'Can't imagine Daisy doing this,' Bryan murmured when their overnight kit had been stuffed into bags.

Ray, who did this every year, said, 'She doesn't know what she's missing.'

Bryan ran his fingers through Ray's spiky purple and green hair.

'Does this wash out?'

Quivering beneath Bryan's touch – heavens, and that was only his hair! – Ray nodded. 'I don't suppose Daisy would do that either.'

'She would,' Bryan's mouth curled up at the corners, 'if it was on the cover of _Vogue_.' Idly, he took Ray's hand, inspecting his short purple and green nails. 'When you come to watch me race, will you do this for me?'

His team colours were orange and yellow ochre. For a dizzy millisecond Ray pictured himself decked out like a Satsuma, leaping up and down and cheering Bryan on from the stand as he tore round the track at ten thousand miles an hour. Then he pictured Daisy, in a short skirt, throwing her arms around Bryan on the winner's rostrum, flicking back her blonde hair and flashing her dazzling smile for the photographers . . .

'We're talking weeks away.' Ray kept his tone flippant. 'You'll be tired of slumming it by then.'

Bryan tilted Ray's face round to his. He lowered his dark glasses for a second.

'I might not be.'

Oh dear, it wasn't easy trying to be realistic when you were on the receiving end of that amethyst gaze.

'Okay,' Ray managed finally. 'I might be bored of you.'

'What if you're not?' Bryan paused. 'Is that what you think I'm doing? Slumming it?'

'Look, it doesn't matter, I'm not expecting anything to –'

'Sshh.' Bryan pressed a finger to Ray's lips, silencing him. 'I don't want to hear this.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Anyway, don't be such a pessimist. You never know, I could be a much nicer person than you think.'

'In that case, you'll be quite safe,' Ray told him ruefully. 'I only fall for men who are complete pigs.'

'Come on, I know you're bored,' said Bryan several hours later. 'Let's go.'

He reached for Ray's hand. Without looking at him, Ray pinched it, hard.

'Six games all,' announced the umpire. 'Tie break. Ladies and gentlemen, quiet please.'

The atmosphere on Centre Court was electrifying. The no-hope young British player was having the game of his life against this year's number one seed and Ray's nails were bitten down to his knuckles. Now, at two sets to one up, victory was in his grasp.

'I love you, I want to marry you,' whispered Bryan, 'I want to adopt children with you.'

'Ssshhh!'

A fraught ten minutes later, the number one seed crashed the ball into the net and the Centre Court crowd erupted. A great roar went up and wild applause drowned out the umpire's attempts to relay the final score. Tears of joy were pouring down the young British player's face.

'What a nancy,' Bryan complained, his tone scornful. 'Won't catch me doing that when I win the world championship.'

Ray, leaping up an ddown and screaming with delight, cannoned into Bryan and threw his arms around him.

'Wasn't that fantastic? Wasn't he brilliant! Oh God, that was so . . . so . . .'

'Almost as good as watching you.' Grinning Bryan steadied Ray, who was still trembling all over, awash with adrenalin. 'I thought you were going to jiggle right off your seat.'

'Don't make fun of me. I get excited.' Ray wiped his eyes. 'Oh, bless him, look, he's signing autographs for the ball-boys . . .'

'You squeaked,' Bryan told him, 'every time he hit the ball.'

'. . . and he's still crying . . .'

'That's because he knows he's going to be knocked out in the next round.'

'Heavens, the next round! Who's he going to be playing?' Feverishly, Ray scrabbled in his backpack for his programme. 'Yikes, that massive Russian.'

'Oh well, in that case he's going to need all out support.' Bryan gave Ray a nudge. 'You'll have to sleep with me again.'

Ray heaved a sigh of regret.

'I can't.'

'You can, I'll get tickets for us.'

'I mean I'm not able to take another day off work. I've used up all my leave. And you can't just buy tickets for the show courts.' Kindly, Ray explained the rules. 'You either apply for them by ballot about a hundred years beforehand, or pitch a tent out on Church Road.'

'Or become a racing driver,' said Bryan, 'and mention to one of your sponsors that you wouldn't mind a couple of Centre Court ticket's for the men's semi-finals.'

Ray stared at him, realisation slowly dawning.

'You mean . . . what you're telling me is we didn't have to queue up overnight?'

Bryan shrugged.

'Of course we didn't _have_ to. But you kept insisting it was more fun. You said,' he reminded Ray, 'that sleeping on the pavement was the only way to do Wimbledon, that it made you appreciate the tennis all the more, that people who didn't pitch a tent didn't know what they were –_ouch_.'

Ray thumped him again for good measure, because if Bryan was laughing it meant that he hadn't hit him hard enough.

'I only said that because I've always _had_ to sleep on the pavement,' Ray wailed. 'It's called making the best of the situation. Because I've never' – thump – 'had any other' – thump – 'choice.'

'Oh.' Bryan was still laughing and rubbing his arm. 'Should have said.'

Ray shook his head, marvelling at Bryan's lack of intuition.

'Should have _known_.'

'But you were right. It was more fun.'

'Only because you did have the choice.'

Bryan nodded, put his arm around Ray's indignant shoulders, and kissed him on the cheek.

'You're right. I'm a thoughtless pig, and I'm sorry. Let me get tickets for the semis.'

Pride welled up.

'I still can't. Work.'

If Takao could hear him now, Ray thought, he'd be astounded.

'The final, then.' Bryan hesitated. 'I won't be able to make it, but you could bring a friend.'

Of course he wouldn't be able to make it. Daisy would be back by Sunday. Feeling like a small child being placated with sweets so the grown-ups could go off and enjoy themselves, Ray shook his head.

'Don't worry, I couldn't make it on Sunday either.'

'Tell you what. You cancel your arrangements and I'll cancel mine.'

Oh yes, terrific idea.

'Daisy wouldn't be thrilled.'

'What's Daisy got to do with it?' Bryan grinned at Ray. 'I'm racing at Silverstone.'

It was eight o'clock by the time they reached Tredegar Gardens. Expecting a goodbye peck on the cheek and a vague see-you-around, Ray raised his eyebrows when Bryan jumped out of the taxi with him and paid off the driver.

'Are you Bryan Kutsenov?' The cab driver peered at him suspiciously; with that Legionnaire's hat and those dark wrap-around glasses it was impossible to tell, but on the journey back from Wimbledon he had definitely heard them talking about next Sunday's Grand Prix.

'Don't I wish.' Bryan's reply was cheerful. 'I wouldn't say no to his money.'

It wasn't him. Disappointed, the driver said, 'Not to mention the birds.'

'Oh, I don't know. I don't do so badly.' Bryan grinned.

Ray, hot and dusty and desperate for a shower though he was, thought indignantly that there was no need for the driver to look at him with quite such blatant disbelief.

'It was the hair,' Bryan told him when the cab had moved off.

'Why aren't you going home?'

'Friendly.' Bryan hauled the backpack containing their tent and sleeping bags on to his shoulder. 'Because I'm not bored with you yet.'

'I might be bored with you.' Ray's tone was challenging.

Bryan's mouth twitched.

'No you're not.'

**Dolphin-san: **LOL Wouldn't that be a funny sight to see? Ray decked out in a giant Satsuma suit jumping up and down in a crowd of racing fans.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

Inside, the house was empty. So typical, thought Ray. Where were Florence and Max when you were bursting to show off to them? It was like waking up on Christmas Eve, finding Father Christmas in your room and knowing that in the morning nobody was going to believe you.

'Nice place.' Bryan gazed with pleasure around Florence's bohemian sitting room.

Patting the back of the sofa, Ray said encouragingly, 'Sit down, put the TV on if you want. Give me ten minutes to shower and change, and we'll be off.'

Bryan didn't sit down.

'What's your room like?'

Eek!

'Messy. Very messy. This one's much nicer.'

'Don't be so boring. I like messy rooms.' His mouth twitched at the corners. 'You can explore in them.'

There was clearly no stopping him; he was already heading up the stairs. Running after him, Ray panted, 'Better put on your Indiana Jones hat, then. And no _snooping_.'

Bryan raised a teasing eyebrow as Ray pushed open the door to his room.

'Not even in your boxer drawer?'

'Especially not there!'

Bryan grinned.

'Is that where you keep all your old love letters?'

'Actually, it's where I keep my boxers.'

And pretty old some of them were, too. The thought of Bryan Kutsenov having a good rummage and dragging out his precious I Love Bros pants with the pictures of Matt and Luke on the front wasn't a relaxing one. If he wanted to enjoy his shower he was going to have to cart the whole drawer into the bathroom with him.

'I won't snoop,' promised Bryan. 'How about a look at your CD collection – would that be safe?'

Actually, not very. Matt and Luke featured in there too. Really wishing he had more glamorous taste in music – a bit of Ella Fitzgerald here, a dash of Shostakovich there – Ray shrugged and said, 'Alright.'

At least he couldn't be charged with possession of the dreaded Celine Dion tape – that was safely back with Bev.

But when he re-emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later with his hair back to its normal – well, relatively normal – colour and his crocus yellow Lycra top clinging to his still damp skin, he found Bryan inspecting the contents of the blue glass bowl on top of his chest of drawers.

Oh well, could be worse; he could have been lying naked in bed . . . no, no, mustn't even think those kind of thoughts –

'I'm in love,' said Bryan.

Not with Bros, surely.

Ray braced himself, then saw what Bryan was holding.

'That's my lucky pig.'

'How do you know he's lucky?'

'I tucked him into the waist band of my pants before my maths GCSE exam.'

He sounded impressed. 'And you passed?'

'God, no, failed miserably.'

Bryan shook his head, mystified.

'So why was that lucky?'

'My maths teacher suggested I gave a career in nuclear physics a miss and went into hairdressing instead.'

Bryan laughed.

'Two hours inside your pants? Can't get much luckier than that. Definitely a pig after my own heart. Can I borrow him for next Sunday's race?'

'For luck?' Ray hesitated.

'You don't want me to have him.' Sensing reluctance, Bryan dropped the pig back into the bowl.

Ray wavered. He loved his copper pig.

'No, no, you take him.' He nodded to show he meant it. 'Just don't blame me if you don't win. It could be his way of telling you to become a Kwik-Fit fitter instead.'

'Where are we going?' said Ray as their cab bowled through the back streets of Putney.

'To the rescue. I'm the lone Ranger, you're Tonto.'

'Where's Silver, stuck down a canyon?'

'I promised Tala we'd meet him. Tricky first-date scenario,' Bryan murmured and lowered his voice. 'If he starts talking about star signs, it means the girl's a disaster and we have to get him out of there.'

Ray frowned.

'If she's a disaster, why did he invite her out in the first place?'

'Tonto, you're on form. Okay,' Bryan admitted, 'it's more of a blind-date scenario. But don't make a big thing of it – Tala's never been on a blind-date before and he's sensitive about it.'

The restaurant was tucked away at the end of a narrow mews, safe from passing trade and the likelihood of Tala bumping into anyone he knew. The look of relief on his face when he saw Bryan and Ray told them all they needed to know, but just to be on the safe side he pumped Ray's arm with enthusiasm and said, 'Ray, great to see you again! Hmm, good firm handshake. Pisces, am I right?'

'Gemini.' Gingerly Ray retrieved his mangled hand. 'Intelligent, beautiful and excellent at falling into swimming pools with my clothes on.'

'And this is Alice. She's Sagittarius.' Tala rolled his eyes fractionally as he spoke but Alice didn't notice. She was too bust braying with laughter at Ray's swimming pool remark.

'That's so _funny_! Well, Gemini's are funny, aren't they? Did you just make that up or did you copy it from someone on TV?'

'Um . . .'

Alice beamed at Bryan. 'I heard a really funny joke on _The Generation Game_ once. I wrote it down and told the other girls at work.' She leaned forward, her pale-blue eyes bulging. 'And guess what? It was awful, they didn't laugh at all! I felt like writing to Jim Davidson to complain!'

Behind them, a waiter hovered eagerly. Ray couldn't decide who he felt sorrier for, Tala or the poor honking Alice.

With an edge of desperation to his voice, Tala said, 'I wonder what Jim Davidson's star sign is?'

'I just can't believe I'm sitting here talking to Bryan Kutsenov the racing driver,' Alice squealed. 'This is _such_ a thrill . . . wait till I tell the girls in my office, they'll just _die_!'

'Hadn't you better tell Tala why we're here?' prompted Ray, because Bryan was clearly starting to enjoy the awfulness of the occasion.

'What? Oh, no hurry, that can wait. So Alice, did you crochet that amazing waistcoat yourself?'

Tala looked as if he'd quite like to bring a dinner plate crashing down on Bryan's head. If you couldn't trust the Lone Ranger to get you out of trouble, who could you trust?

Tonto rode valiantly to the rescue.

'It can't wait.' Ray's voice was firm. 'I'm sorry, but your godmother phoned up twenty minutes ago,' he told Tala. 'It seems she's had a bit of a mishap with a pair of handcuffs and somehow managed to get herself manacled to her Nautilus machine. She needs you to sort things out. Apparently you're the only one with a spare key.'

A disappointed – but understanding – Alice was dropped off outside Parson's Green tube station. Ray winced with sympathy as he heard Tala, outside the car, awkwardly mumbling his way through the it's-been-great-and-I'll-ring-you routine.

'Yes, but when?' Eagerly Alice clutched at his arm. 'Tomorrow morning, tomorrow evening?'

'That was a nightmare,' Tala groaned, collapsing back into the driver's seat. As they sped away, he lit a cigarette. 'And you were no bloody help, you pillock.'

'She's still waving.' Ray peered over his shoulder at the sad, droopy-hemmed outline of the figure on the pavement. Since nobody else was going to, he waved back.

'We turned up, didn't we?' Bryan grinned. 'I _knew_ she'd crocheted that waistcoat. Jesus, you won't be doing that again in a hurry.'

'Isn't that a bit mean, dropping her off at the tube?' complained Ray. 'Couldn't you at least have given her a ride home?'

'My godmother's handcuffed to her Nautilus machine. No time to lose,' said Tala, after a moments hesitation. 'Thanks, by the way,' he told Ray. 'If it hadn't been for you we'd still be there, discussing crochet stitches and bloody horoscopes.'

'Who set you up?' Ray marvelled. 'I mean, I don't get it. Which of your friends seriously thought you two lovely young people would get on like a house on fire?'

Another pause, longer this time.

'Hang a left,' said Bryan. 'We'll go to my place. Ray wouldn't let me jump in the shower at his.'

'That's because you wanted to jump in with me.'

'Save water, shower with a friend, that's what I always say.' Bryan thought for a second. 'But you wouldn't catch me sharing a shower with Tala here. Hairy backs.' He shook his head. 'Always a bit of a turn-off.'

'That's another reason I wouldn't let you in,' Ray told him. 'So you wouldn't see mine.'

Bryan's flat was on the ground floor of an Edwardian house just off the King's Road. In the living room the walls were conker-brown and hung with framed prints of Formula One cars old and new. The highly polished wooden floor was strewn with multicoloured rugs. Ray was relieved to see that Bryan didn't go in for putting pictures of himself on display.

The sofa, in burnt-orange soft leather, was Olympic sized, as were the TV, the hi-fi and the bookcase housing every motor racing book known to man.

'Very tidy.' He noted the stacks of magazines in serried piles beneath the glossy walnut coffee table.

'Only because my cleaner's been in.' Amused by Ray's evident astonishment, Bryan pulled his white sweatshirt up over his head. 'My turn for a shower. Tala will get you a drink. Unless you'd rather keep me company in the bathroom, stop me getting lonely . . . ?'

'Tala can get me a drink.' Ray bounced on to the sofa, which was impressively squashy. 'Gosh, you could sleep on this thing.'

'You can do all sorts on it.' Bryan winked as he headed for the bathroom. 'But don't try anything too exotic before I get back.'

'Can I have a look around while you're gone?'

'Feel free, snoop all you like. Nothing embarrassing in my drawers,' said Bryan. 'No ancient boxers with pictures of pretty-boy pop stars on them in this flat.'

Ray hurled a cushion at him. Laughing, he exited, singing, 'When, will I, will I be famous?' in a breathless falsetto.

It was no good, some things were just too humiliating to hang on to. Those boxers were going to have to go.

In the kitchen Tala was wrestling with a bottle of Pinot Noir and a hi-tech corkscrew. His stomach by this time growling with hunger, Ray admired the range of nifty appliances on show, then peered into a few cupboards.

'This kitchen is all mouth and no trousers,' he announced. 'There's no food.'

'Plenty to drink though.' Tala showed him the fridge, stacked with lager, vodka, champagne and fruit juice. 'We're lads,' he added defensively. 'We're supposed to eat out. Real men don't cook.'

'I'll tell Marco Pierre White you said that. He'll come round and beat you up.' Ray held out a glass and watched him pour. 'The last time I saw you, you were practically naked and covered with bits of watermelon.'

'I hope you also noticed that I don't have a hairy back,' said Tala.

Following him through to the living room, Ray threw himself back down on the sofa.

'So who set you up with Alice?'

'Hmm?' Tala had his back to him. He was busy with the midi system, pressing buttons and flicking through a pile of CDs.

'Okay, put it this way,' said Ray. 'Did you answer her ad or did she answer yours?'


End file.
